The Delivery
by Savannah-Vee
Summary: Inspired by 'The Transporter'. British Edward Masen is a Transporter. He has transported everything from illegal weapons, to drugs, to even people - dead and alive. He's hired to 'deliver' Bella Swan, and this is a job he will never forget... ON HIATUS!
1. The Pickup

**The Pickup**

* * *

**-E.M.-**

It helps to be attractive.

Well, it does for me anyway.

I remember reading about some research in The Independent newspaper that said that attractive people earned up to twenty four percent more than those considered unattractive. A survey of two thousand lawyers also showed that the best looking were more likely to be offered key promotions. There's also been some research that found that kids were more responsive to attractive people.

I usually take this so called, 'research' with a grain of salt, but I have to admit, it's been true for me so far.

You see, people seem to trust me easily. People are always so nice to me, so polite, so willing to be helpful. All I have to do is flash them my pearly whites in a cheeky grin, and I'll soon have them eating out of my hand.

It's like, no one expects a good looking person to be bad. From when we're young we have this unfortunate notion fed to us. In fairytales the prince is always handsome, the princess always beautiful, and the evil characters are mostly ugly. Even as adults, when we see the news and some serial killer has been caught, and it shows us his mug-shot, if he's ugly we're like, "Well, it's not surprising really, I mean, you can tell he's evil just by looking at him." If he's good looking we shake our heads in disbelief and say, "I would never have thought it. What a waste, he's such a good looking guy too." It's human nature.

So although I'm technically the Transporter, I often get used as 'bait' too, along with Rosalie. I don't mind really, I mean, it's all part of the job. It's also made it a whole lot easier to transport people too, because they don't see it coming. I mean, even if they owe a fuckload of money, and they know that the person they owe is gonna come after them, they don't expect that the tall, young, good looking guy who has suspiciously cornered them in an alleyway – just to ask for directions – has anything to do with it. That is, of course, until I pull out my 9mm pistol and hold it to their temple. But by then it's too late.

Of course, having a London accent also helps a lot. Especially with the women. All I'd have to say is, 'hello' and they'd gawp at me in wonder, immediately succumbing to my every word. It's quite funny really.

I had a feeling my task was going to be relatively easy. Jasper had already found out all the details about her. I knew where she lived, where she worked, what she looked like. All I had to do was be at the right place at the right time.

Bella Swan wouldn't even know what was happening until it was too late.

The guy who had hired me to bring her to him was gonna pay me a ton of money for it. He seemed like he was desperate for her, and I have to admit, I'm curious as to why. But you never ask questions with this job, you just get on with it. Most times it's best not to know anyway. If it was a package I wouldn't even ever know what was in it. I would have just dumped it in my boot, dropped it off to wherever I had been told to, and picked up my cash.

Of course, as she isn't a package, and she's still alive, it's not going to be as easy. But I've transported people before, and have never had any huge problems, so I'm not worried.

I scan the crowd of people filing out of the squared, red bricked school building.

There are loads of kids of course, running out of the school and over to the parking lot excitedly, their parents following them, beaming proudly at them in a way only a parent knows how. I briefly wonder if my parents would be proud to know that I'd abandoned my plans to be a psychologist and was now the type of person they loathed, the type of person they would have to defend in Court, just because they were paying them – with drug money ironically – even though they knew damn well that they were guilty. No, they probably wouldn't be too proud. In fact, my dad would probably personally fly over here and drag me back to London by my ear.

Suddenly I spot her.

I straighten up, my attention completely on her now. I flex my fingers around the wooden handle in my jeans pocket, my index finger tracing along the ridges of cool metal. I grin.

She's walking amidst the clutter of elementary school kids, holding a bundle of cloths I assume are the costumes from the school play they'd just had. They kids are shouting excitedly at her, hugging her around her waist, trying to hold her hand, despite the fact that she looks like she's about to drop the pile she's holding. She's smiling though, seemingly listening intently to the kids as they share their stories enthusiastically, and she nods and replies with, "Oh wow, that's great Dean, well done!" and "Oh really Susan? That must be exciting!"

I find myself smiling. She seems quite sweet actually, humouring all the little buggers. I wouldn't have the patience.

Eventually she makes it to her car, which – not coincidentally – is parked only one car down from mine. She doesn't spot me at first, too busy handling the bundle in her arms. She leans against her car – an old, banged up Honda Civic – and places the costumes on the top of the bonnet, digging around in the pocket of her trousers for a moment before she pulls out her keys. She walks around the car to the boot and unlocks it – still not seeing me.

When she walks back around to the front of the car to go pick up the costumes again, I decide to finally make my move.

I put on my best, charming smile, hands still casually in my pockets, as I saunter over to her. She sees me briefly, turns her attention back to the costumes, then does a double take, glancing up at me again in surprise, her eyes widening minutely. I smile wider, and she smiles back timidly. I lean casually against the door of the driver side of her car – that way, even if she _tries _to make a quick getaway, she won't be able to get in her car.

"Hi." I say.

"Hey." She replies. She holds my gaze but fiddles about with her keys in her hand absently. She's nervous.

She hasn't noticed my accent yet, I mean, you can't really distinguish accents from a word like 'hi'. It's a pretty accent-less word.

"You work at the school?" I ask, though I obviously know she does. It's all part of the facade.

Her eyes widen again quickly as she registers my accent, then she smiles and nods. "Um, yeah, I do. I'm only a teaching assistant though."

I knew this too.

I nod. "I'm just here to pick up my nephew for my sister. I didn't make it in time for the play."

She nods, and we're silent for a brief moment. "Um, you have an accent." She says uncertainly. "Are you Australian?"

I almost laugh out loud, but suppress it into a smirk. "No, English actually."

"Oh right!" She slaps her forehead lightly in embarrassment. "Sorry, I'm really bad at accents. I like your accent though." She says, turning pink.

I smile again. "Thank you."

She moves to start lifting the bundle, and walks over to the boot again – going around the side of the car I'm not standing on. I watch her in amusement for a moment.

"Do you need a bit of help?" I ask, also walking around to the boot, standing behind her. She almost drops the clothes, and I reach out and catch them before they hit the ground. "Here you go." I say, handing her the item that had dropped from the pile. She blushes again when I meet her eyes.

"Thanks." She mumbles.

"No problem. Can I know your name, _beautiful_?" I ask with a grin.

_Smooth._

Although I've seen the picture of her, and I'm pretty sure I have the right person, it's best to be one hundred percent certain.

She blushes before she replies, "Bella."

_Bingo._

I raise my eyebrows in mock surprise. "Bella eh? Fitting name."

She smiles bashfully, remaining pink as she mumbles. "Thank you."

And it's not a lie. She is pretty. The picture of her that Jasper had managed to dig up didn't do her much justice.

She's small, not as small as Alice, but I still tower over her. She's about 5,2 at most, slim, but I can see she has curves. Her white jumper is straining across her chest, her grey pants are snug around her thighs, and when she leans into the boot, dumping the costumes in it, I notice her arse is round, and firm looking.

She's olive toned, yet she's pale, but she looks like she tans easily. Her hair is a very dark brown, or a black, I can't tell, but she has bright red highlights all through it. It's tied up in a messy looking bun, but I can tell it's probably quite long. Her face is narrow and heart shaped, and she has a widow's peak accentuating the heart shape even more. She's got high cheekbones and full red lips, her bottom lip jutting out a little as it's plumper than the top one. Her eyes are large, and a light brown, long, sooty lashes surrounding them.

She's more than pretty in fact, I think. She looks somewhat exotic. That's probably the Italian in her. Her mother, Renee Fuschino, is Italian American. We needed to research her too because Bella lives with her here in Phoenix, and we needed to see what would have been an appropriate lie to put in the note to her that will explain Bella's sudden disappearance. Luckily for us, her mother didn't seem like a worrier. In fact, Renee Fuschino often took spontaneous trips herself, also only leaving Bella a note before she left.

So we left a note for her in Bella's name, '_Hey mom, needed a little break, gone to New York to stay with Angela. Be back in a few days! Love, Bella.' _Jasper's brilliant. He had even looked up Bella's old friends to make the note more convincing. Angela Webber is a journalist intern in New York and she's been Bella's best friend since high school. Bella still keeps in contact with her, in fact, she had spoken to her only two days ago; so it wouldn't have been odd for her to go visit. Perfect.

I move to stand behind her as she locks the car boot, almost pressing my body into her nice arse. Yeah, she's pretty hot, which is why I feel a slight twinge of guilt as I snake my left arm around her waist, holding her firmly as I press the cold metal of the 9mm, double barrelled, Derringer pistol to her side.

She gasps when she feels my arm, but I don't think she's spotted the gun yet. I push it into her side, harder, and she glances down at it, immediately stiffening. I know she's probably about to scream, so I move my left hand from her waist, and clamp it over her mouth. I can feel her hot breath on my palm as she pants in fright, and I bring my mouth up to her right ear.

"Scream and I'll blow your bloody guts out. You hear me?" I whisper calmly. I can do menacing, but I'm sure the girl's scared enough, no need to make her worse.

She nods frantically, her head bobbing up and down like a rag doll.

Of course I'm not really going to shoot her, even if she does scream. My instructions were to bring her alive. I don't shoot people unless it's absolutely necessary anyway.

"Now, I'm gonna let go of your mouth, if you scream you know what'll happen. We're gonna walk over to my car," I jerk my head in the direction of the Vanquish, "and then you're gonna get in calmly, like everything's fine. Got it?"

A deep sob escapes her throat, and I feel her hot, wet tears dripping onto my fingers over her mouth. But she nods again.

I march her one car down the parking lot to my car, still pressed against her arse as if I was attached to it by my dick. I let go of her mouth – though my arm is back around her waist immediately afterwards – and I struggle to try to reach my car keys in my jeans pocket. It's impossible for me to do unless I let go of her, and if I use the hand holding the gun, she'll try to escape, and if I let go of her waist and use that hand, she'll try to escape. I groan in frustration.

"Reach back into my pocket, and pull out my keys." I say.

She complies, fingers shaking as they fumble blindly behind her. She pats my front, searching for my pocket, and her hand brushes against my dick. I try not to react, but it's difficult. I've got a gorgeous girl with a fantastic gluteus maximus practically pressed to my dick, and then she touches it. It's impossible not to get a hard on. It's really bloody inappropriate though. She finally finds my pocket and digs into it, retrieving the key in one trembling hand.

I snatch it from her and press the button that unlocks the car from the outside only. Rosalie is a fucking genius when it comes to cars. I open the passenger side and shove her inside, holding the Derringer up to her wide, terrified eyes as she cowers in the leather seat. As I look into her eyes there's that twinge of guilt again. I hastily brush it away.

"No point tryna escape from the car darling, it doesn't open from the inside. Don't bother tryna smash the windows either, they're bulletproof." I say with a smug smirk, before shutting the door on her and placing the gun back in my pocket.

I turn away from the car and pull out my phone from my back pocket. I press the speed dial and call Alice. She answers after one ring. "I've got her Alice, what's the address?" I say.

**TTT**

**~B.S.~**

I am such a fucking idiot!

_Why Bella?_ I ask myself as I stare at his form from behind the tinted, _bulletproof _window. _Why don't you ever learn? _I was always sucked in by good looks, always became so trusting, so enticed, so fucking _stupefied_ by a guy with a pretty face. Same thing had happened with Jake. Why didn't I learn my lesson? My mom has always warned me that it would get me in big trouble one day. Well thanks a fucking bunch for being a jinx mom, because this right here is a _whole heap _of trouble.

He's still on his cell phone, talking low so I can't make out what he's saying in that sexy accent of his. God I love British guys. And this guy right here, well, he's _totally_ my favourite brand of male. He is fucking _hot. _I mean, I couldn't believe my eyes when I spotted him.

He's tall, looking to be round about 6,2. He's lean, but through the snug fitting black t shirt he's wearing I can easily see the faint outline of his musculature, meaning that he probably works out. I can even see a slight swell in his bicep as he holds the phone to his ear.

His hair is a dark reddish brown, and it's all messed up, looking like he's just come back from having sex or something. He turns around again, walking over to the car and I gasp in fear, though honestly it's also because I'm once again stunned by his beautiful face. Really, how can such a gorgeous guy like him turn out to be a lunatic? What a waste.

His features are very sharp, chiselled like a Greek sculpture. His nose is perfectly straight, his jaw line bending at a damn near right angle, his cheekbones are high and defined, he has a slight cleft in his chin, and his eyes, which I can't see the colour of, are hooded by thick, prominent eyebrows. His lips though, are a contrast to all that sharpness. They look soft, and full, and pink, and utterly kissable.

And I think I've officially lost it. I'm being kidnapped, or whatever, by a crazy guy, not knowing what the hell he has planned for me. I mean, I could be raped, tortured, murdered by this nut job, and all I can do is check him out! _You've really outdone yourself this time, Swan. _I think.

He gets into the driver seat and slams the door shut.

"You should put your seatbelt on." He says, buckling up his own seatbelt. "And don't touch anything." He adds, starting up the engine.

I barely have time to grab my seatbelt before I'm almost thrown against the dashboard at the speed at which he accelerates. He glances at me as I struggle to right myself on the leather seat, and his lips twitch at the corners. He looks like he wants to laugh, though I can't possibly think of anything funny right now. I grab the seatbelt and fasten it, and he tears out of the parking lot as if the devil himself is chasing him.

I sit silently, still shaking with fear slightly as we drive on, sneaking glances at him to see if I can get any reading on my situation. His face is expressionless as he stares at the road intently, and I finally see that his eyes are a very light turquoise colour. They're about the same colour as the sea around a tropical island, and about as clear as it too. I've never seen eyes like that before. They're beautiful. I can't tear my own eyes away from them, and I continue to stare at them from the side of my eye. He notices me looking after a while, because his turquoise irises move to the corner of his eye sockets to look back at me, and his eyebrow elevates ever so slightly. I quickly look away.

I try to pay attention to the road now, with hope that if I can manage to escape him I will remember the way back from wherever he's taking me. _Yeah right Swan, you can't even remember the way back to your mom's house after coming back from the grocery store. _I groan quietly, and he shoots me a questioning look, but remains silent.

It's too silent for me. It's making me even more unnerved if that were possible, so I lean forward slowly, trying not to make any sudden movements, because the guy still has a gun on him. I reach out my left hand slowly to the radio...

"Don't fucking touch anything!" He barks, and I snatch my hand back quickly, cringing in fear, and leaning away from him towards the door.

And it's as if I have finally snapped out of the odd, shock induced stage where I can't help ogling him, because I begin to cry, the real danger I'm in suddenly sinking in, until it feels like I'm drowning. Drowning in tears. I sob pathetically, and sniff noisily, and wipe at my face with my sweater, but the tears won't stop. It's like my tear ducts have burst open, and I can't fix the leak.

He ignores me for a while, his face remaining stoic. But as my crying progresses into breathless hiccups, I see his eyebrows are furrowed deeply. He turns to glare at me when we reach a stop light, his face incredulous.

"Jesus, haven't you cried enough woman?"

I blink at him in surprise, because that was definitely not what I was expecting him to say. I suck on my bottom lip which is trembling, and he continues glaring at me for a moment, before he huffs and throws his right hand in the air. I flinch.

"Fine, if I let you turn on the radio will you stop crying?" He asks, looking exasperated.

I notice I've already stopped crying – oddly – and I nod.

He gestures to the knobs. "Go on."

And then the light is green, and he's concentrating on the road again.

I reach out again timidly, and switch on the radio. It seems to be on a classical station which sounds pretty soothing right now, so I leave it there. He quirks his eyebrow, but says nothing.

After another long moment of silence, when I'm feeling better now that I've cried out most of my terror, I clear my throat and take a deep breath. I notice him glancing at me inquiringly, so I turn to him.

"Um, I don't mean to disturb you sir, but I was just wondering...What exactly are you gonna do to me?" I peek at him, and he's focused on the road again.

"I'm not gonna kill you." He answers.

I wait for more, but that's all he says, so I ask, "And, can you please just tell me where exactly we're going?"

He ignores me.

I sigh, leaning back against the headrest and closing my eyes.

I'm not gonna die, at least, and that knowledge comforts me a little, well, for a while anyway.


	2. The First Stop

**The First Stop**

* * *

**~B.S.~**

I open my eyes to find that it's dark.

Disoriented, I hastily sit up, my eyes darting around frantically as I take in my surroundings. I'm still in the car, seatbelt still strapped around me – but he's gone.

I inhale sharply, peering out of the windscreen, where a large, glowing full moon peers back at me like a cat's eye.

I'm in a parking lot.

It's quite full, thankfully, so I know I'm not stranded in the middle of nowhere. But where the hell am I? And where the hell is he?

There seems to be no other people in the parking lot, and it's eerily silent, the rows of cars seeming almost as chilling as rows of gravestones. I shiver, realising it's actually quite cold in the car, meaning the engine's been off for quite some time.

But where is he?

Surely he didn't just abandon me and his car in this parking lot, I mean, what would be the point of that?

I have no idea what the time is, seeing as the engines off and the car is in darkness, and I stupidly forgot to put on my watch this morning, as usual, but it's dark so it's obviously nightfall. I can't believe I actually managed to fall asleep in this fucked up situation. But then again, I'm not surprised. Nothing comes between Bella Swan and her sleep, that's for sure, not even _three _alarm clocks.

I sigh, blowing up a strand of my hair which has fallen out of my bun, and lean back against the chair – yelping in surprise as I fall further back than I expected.

The chair has been reclined back for me.

Could he have done it?

I roll my eyes. _Duh Bella, who else could it have been?_

But why would he do that?

And where the fuck is he?!

My eyes dart around me again anxiously, this time roaming around the car too, looking for _something _that can give me a clue as to what the hell is going on. My eyes fall on a blue blanket at my feet, and I lean forward – the seatbelt pressing into my throat as I do – to pick it up. I hold it up, examining it closely, frowning at it in puzzlement. It must have fallen off of me when I sat up. So that means he must have put it around me while I was asleep.

But why would he do that?

And where in God's name is he?!

And then a sudden thought flickers to me, and it's like in a cartoon, when a light bulb goes on over their head.

_Why am I still just sitting here, wondering where he is, instead of not giving a shit and using the chance to escape?_ I mean, I'm in a full parking lot, someone's bound to come out sooner or later and I can get help.

I start fumbling with the seatbelt hastily and clumsily until I unfasten it. Then I begin jerking the door handle, tugging it back with all my might – but the door doesn't open. The knobs are up, so that means it's unlocked, but it doesn't open.

"No!" I wail despondently, banging against the window with my right fist, in frustration. I remember his words from earlier on, '_No point tryna escape from the car darling, it doesn't open from the inside. Don't bother tryna smash the windows either, they're bulletproof.' _And the tears threaten to spill again.

I scrub at my eyes with my palms, keeping the heels of my palms pressed against my closed lids as I start sobbing, my nose running uncontrollably so I have to keep sniffing every few seconds.

"Why are you doing this?!" I screech, grabbing at the door handle again and tugging it pointlessly. "What the fuck do you want from me?!"

I continue tugging at it over and over as I wail and screech and sniff – and suddenly the door flies open, and I nearly topple forwards, out of the open door.

But I don't, because he's there, and he pushes me back into the car so I fall back against the reclined chair. He hovers over me, his stunning features looking creepy and unnatural in the moonlight as he glowers at me in fury. I can't see the colour of his pretty eyes in the dark, so they look black, and I begin shaking – scared shitless – beneath him as I squeeze my eyes tightly shut.

I can hear him breathing in the deafening silence, and I can feel his glare on me. It's like it's penetrating my every fibre, like he somehow has X-ray vision.

I hear him fumbling around, and then after a short while he's still, so I chance a peek...

To find that I'm staring down the barrel, or barrels of a gun, the silver steel catching a glint of the glowing moonlight eye.

I scream automatically, and my scream comes out muffled, and that's when I realise his cool palm is pressed against my mouth.

He waits patiently until I finish screaming, still scowling; his dark eyes trained on my own. I stop, realising it's pointless, and sniff quickly, suddenly mortified that my nose has probably run on his hand.

"I don't wanna have to hold this up to your face constantly, but if you don't shut the fuck up, I'll have no choice." He warns in a harsh whisper.

He presses the gun into the space between my eyebrows, and I stiffen as I feel the cold circle of steel, so shockingly real and frightening. I can't fathom that I, Isabella Swan, have a gun pressed to my forehead at this very moment. The only thing that's keeping me from becoming hysterical is the fact that he told me he wouldn't kill me. But even that had never seemed like a certainty to me anyway. I can only _hope_ that he'll keep his word.

He turns his gaze over to the open door, his eyebrows furrowing impossibly more as he examines the door handle I have just been abusing. My eyes widen with alarm as he looks back at me, his breathing heavy as he fumes.

"Didn't I tell you not to _fucking _touch anything woman?!" He starts off the sentence in a menacing murmur, but he gradually gets louder and angrier, and he's yelling by the time he gets to the word, 'woman'.

I flinch, causing the gun to slide up my forehead an inch.

He turns back to the door, his hand reaching out for it tentatively. He fingers the door handle, pulling it gently, examining it, almost tenderly, as if it were a wounded person, rather than a car. I see his jaw clenching and unclenching, the muscle in his distinct jaw line poking out and relaxing, as he presses his teeth together and then releases.

I gasp in shock when there is suddenly a head peeking over his left shoulder, and a woman with a chin length bob locks eyes with me.

She's pretty, her features dainty, and delicate-looking. Faint arched eyebrows over almond shaped eyes. A little, upturned nose over a small, pouty mouth.

"God Edward, take that thing off of her forehead. She's fucking terrified." She says in a New York accent.

He – _Edward – _turns back to me, and though he still looks furious, he lowers the gun – to my chest.

"You're lucky you never broke anything." He mutters, staring at me coldly.

The woman is also staring at me; her eyes squinted, like she's studying my features.

"She's pretty." She murmurs to herself.

"Mmm Hmm." He hums.

And what does that mean? Does _he _think I'm pretty?

He sighs and moves back from me finally, lowering the gun to his side.

"Scream again and it'll be back in your face. You hear me?" He threatens, but he doesn't look mad anymore.

I nod quickly.

He steps out of the car and slams the door shut.

I watch him and the woman through the window. I can see her properly now that he isn't partly covering her. She's short, like shorter than me even, and very petite. Everything about her seems so small. Her chin length bob is jet black, well, it appears to be anyway, and she's in black, wide legged pants, a white frilly blouse, and a black pea coat. I glimpse the soles of her heels when she kicks at the gravel in the parking lot absently, and they are red. She's wearing Louboutins.

"Where's Emmett?" I hear him – _Edward _– ask.

"He's on his way. Stuck in traffic he says. He'll be here in fifteen minutes max."

He sighs impatiently. "Too fucking long. I already waited almost an hour for you to get here."

She shrugs. "Not my fault. But you don't have to wait in the car now anyway. Why don't you just go to the room?"

"And then what will I do if she tries to escape?"

"I'll stay with you until Em gets here. It'll be harder for her to try to escape with two of us watching her."

He nods. "What about the clothes? You don't have them."

"I didn't know her size, needed to see her first. But she's too big for my stuff, too skinny for Rosalie's stuff. It'll have to be Esme's."

He nods again.

"I'll bring em tomorrow." She says.

He turns to the door again and yanks it open, and I cringe back into the seat.

He sighs and grabs my arm.

"C'mon," he says, "we're going into the hotel. Are you gonna come peacefully?" He asks; eyebrows raised at me in challenge.

I nod silently, and a corner of his mouth quirks up in a half smile.

He tugs my arm gently, and I slowly step out of the car, my legs unsteady after not being used for so long.

She stares at me again, her eyes roving up and down my body. Then, she actually looks behind me and glances down at my ass. She nods in approval.

"Nice." She mutters, and he laughs, shaking his head.

_Did she just check me out? _I flush in embarrassment.

He turns to me, his hand holding on to my arm gently, yet firmly. She positions herself at my other side, and I know that they're doing it just in case I try to run. I won't run though, as it'll be pointless. I can't run very fast, and I'd likely trip over my feet and fall flat on my face before I even take five steps anyway.

He stares at my face a moment before he speaks. "We're going into a hotel room; where we're gonna spend the night."

My eyes widen in horror. Oh God, he's gonna rape me.

His brow furrows at my reaction, and then his eyes widen too.

"Oh no, not like that." He says quickly, shaking his head. "I mean, we have to stay in a hotel tonight and continue the journey tomorrow morning."

I let out a relieved breath and she giggles.

He begins to pull on my arm again and starts walking, when she touches his arm to stop him.

"Wait." She says, fumbling around in her coat pocket and producing a tissue. She examines it, nods when she finds it clean, and hands it to him. "Wipe her face. I mean, the hotel staff are gonna be suspicious if they see she's been crying."

He nods. "Cheers Al. Didn't even think about that."

He reaches forward towards my face, and I close my eyes, cringing away from him. I hear him sigh and he presses the tissue to my face softly, almost as tenderly as I saw him handle his car, and my eyes snap open in surprise. He dabs at my eyes, and my cheeks, and then I feel embarrassed as he dabs under my nostrils. But he shows no sign of disgust or revulsion, his face is blank as he wipes and then tosses the used tissue on the ground.

He examines my face a moment and mutters, "Better."

Then she's also in my face, peering up at me curiously, and it's then I notice that she is extremely short. She has to look up at _me, _meaning she's probably less than 5 foot tall.

She smiles at me and winks.

We walk out of the parking lot, and over to a building I hadn't even noticed, seeing as it was behind me as I sat in the car. It's not a huge hotel, but it's still pretty extravagant, all glass and leather, and fluffy rugs. Why on earth would they bring me to an expensive hotel if we're only staying one night? And what does he plan on doing to me? And who is the woman? And where the hell is he taking me that requires us to stop at a hotel for the night?

As we enter the lobby of the hotel, his grip on my arm loosens, and he trails his hand down to my hand, grasping it in his own, cool one. He turns his head and leans down so his lips are brushing my ear, causing me to shiver involuntarily. As he speaks I feel his hot breath tickling the shell of my ear.

"Alice has booked us a room. We'll stay there tonight and leave in the morning. While in that room you can shower, sleep, eat, do whatever you want, but if you try to escape at any point – and it's pointless to try because you won't get far – but _if_ you try to escape, all the freedom you get in that room will be taken away, and I'll tie you up. I don't wanna have to do that, but I _will _do it if necessary. Understand?" He whispers.

I nod.

"Good." He says. "Now try to look normal."

He turns his head back to the front, plastering a charming smile on his face as we approach the desk. I notice the smile is the very same one he used on me.

"Good evening." He says, his voice smooth, and soft and seductive.

The woman behind the counter's eyes widen, so do mine, and she smiles at him warmly.

"Good evening, sir. How can I help?"

"I have a room booked, under the name, 'Masen'."

"Ok sir, just a moment." She types something on her computer, and then smiles brightly. "Yes, here it is. The Honeymoon Suite."

Now _his _eyes widen along with mine, and he shoots the black haired, short woman – _Alice_ – a glare. She grins sheepishly, and shrugs.

"Yes, that's correct." He says to the woman behind the desk.

She brings out some papers for him to sign, and then he is handed two key-cards and we turn to the elevators.

"Enjoy your stay, Mr and Mrs Masen!" She calls to us, and he looks over his shoulder and smiles at her.

"Thank You. We will." He says.

**TTT**

**-E.M.-**

Alice has left and Emmett's here now, standing by the door of the hotel suite and looking terrifying, like he's meant to be. His thick, muscular arms are folded over his solid, broad chest, legs apart at shoulder's width, and if I didn't know better, I'd be fucking terrified of him too. I was, in fact, the first time I met him.

The Swan girl is positively shaking, and although there's an annoying feeling of...guilt...or...pity...or _something_ staying constant in the back of my mind as I watch her, I can't help but grin at Emmett in approval. He grins back, his cheeks dimpled deeply, making his grin look boyish, and impish, and making him look far less frightening. I hope the Swan girl didn't see that.

She's sitting on the sofa in the living area of the suite, knees up to her chin, arms hugging them as she quivers, and I begin to wonder whether she's shivering from cold or fright.

"Are you cold?" I ask her after a while, and she jumps when she hears my voice, eyes widening as she takes in my form standing before her.

"Um, no." She rasps, and then clears her throat. "I'm not cold."

I nod. "Hungry? I can order room service."

She meets my eyes tentatively from under her long lashes, and nods minutely. "Ok. Thanks."

I move over to the phone and order all of us a meal. It's delivered a short while later by a pimply teenage boy, who looks just as frightened as the Swan girl when his eyes spot Emmett's 6, 5 burly frame. I laugh, and so does Emmett and the boy leaves the food and hastily hurries back out of the suite.

The Swan girl sits on the sofa as she eats; while Emmett and I sit at a small round table just off to the side of the living area. We talk as we eat, making crude jokes and laughing at our immaturity. I see the Swan girl crack a smile a few times.

"Fuck Edward." Emmett exclaims, banging a huge fist on the table. "You know how long I ain't had pussy for?"

I roll my eyes. "Can't be longer than a week Em."

He grins. "Ok, you're right, but it's close. Five days now."

I laugh, shaking my head.

"Well, why haven't you? It's not like you can't get any."

He shrugs. "I know, I just...I dunno, I guess I don't wanna do that anymore you know? I'm twenty three now; I figured I gotta settle down, find a _girlfriend, _not just a lay."

I eye him sceptically. "Are you serious?"

He nods earnestly. "Deadly serious dude."

My phone vibrates in my pocket and I stand up and fish it out.

"Carl."

"Ed. How's the job going?" He asks.

I shrug. "It's fine. She hasn't been difficult." I cast a glance over to her to find her light brown eyes on me. She turns away quickly when she sees me looking.

"Good, Good." Carlisle says. "I picked up a few new guns. Emmett's got one for you."

I smirk. "Cheers Carl."

He snickers. "No problem. I'll probably meet you guys somewhere, during the trip. I'll call you."

"Alright."

I press the button that ends the call and place the phone on the table. I raise an eyebrow at Emmett. "Carl says you've got a new gun for me."

He grins and nods.

"Well, where the fuck is it?" I ask.

He points an index finger at a briefcase sitting by his foot. I pick it up and place it on the table between us. He unlocks the combination and pops it open, and I grin as I spot the small silver handgun with the black handle. I pick it up, examining it from every angle, moving it about so the light reflects on the shiny silver.

"It's fucking beautiful." I say. "What is it?"

Emmett looks proud as he clasps his hands before him on the table and leans forward. "It's a Smith & Wesson, Chief's Special. The model name is CS45 though."

I nod absently, still admiring the gun, testing the weight of it in my hands, holding it up at the door, finger on the trigger. The Swan girl is staring at me, or at the gun, I don't know, but I can feel her gaze.

Emmett continues, "I know you like small handguns, so I figured you'd love this one. It's compact, but a powerful little thing. They didn't call it the Chief's Special for nothing. It's semi automatic, .45 ACP."

"You know the Derringer was always my favourite, but this one just might top it Em." I say, still holding the gun up, index finger poised on the trigger. "Is it loaded?"

The Swan girl gasps and Emmett and I glance at her. She's staring, wide eyed, at the gun in my hand.

Emmett chuckles. "What the fuck did you do to her Ed, she's fucking petrified."

I shrug nonchalantly. "No fucking idea." I answer. But they're there again as I speak, the little feelings of guilt or whatever, tugging at me, nagging me. I shake them off.

"Nah, it's not loaded." Emmett says, and we hear her sigh. Emmett laughs. "There are a few bullets in the case though."

**TTT**

It's about two in the morning, and the Swan girl is still awake, sitting in the same position she's been sitting in since we got in the hotel suite, hugging her knees tightly as she rests her chin atop them. I'm tired, and was hoping I could get some sleep, but there's no way I can do that if she's awake. There's the fact that she's sitting on the sofa where I need to sleep, seeing as Alice stupidly got us a room with only one bed. Plus, she'd probably try to escape, and although Emmett's sitting against the front door, he's asleep. What if she phone's room service and tells them she's being held against her will?

I sigh and rub my palm up and down my face wearily a few times, to keep myself awake. When I remove my hand from my face she's staring at me again, looking away quickly when I catch her.

"Aren't you tired?" I ask.

She shakes her head. I sigh.

"Well, do you need anything? More food? Drink?"

She shakes her head again.

We're silent again for about five minutes, and then she says in a small, resigned voice, "Please, just tell me where you're taking me, what you want from me. I'm not gonna try to escape ok, I just...I just wanna know. It might help me sleep."

She's looking at me, her large eyes pleading, and so fucking scared that I have to look away. I pinch the bridge of my nose and sigh.

"Look, I can't tell you where I'm taking you, because the person specifically told me not to."

Her brows furrow. "What person?" She asks.

"Can't tell you that either. But, what I _can _tell you, is that I'm not gonna hurt you, I'm not gonna kill you, rape you or do any of the horrifying things you've no doubt thought I was gonna do to you, and neither are any of the people we get in contact with on the way to where I'm taking you. Ok?"

She nods and sniffs, and I look up at her to find two shiny tear trails on her cheeks.

I groan and mutter, "Jesus."

She hears me, and wipes at her face quickly with the heels of her palms. "I'm sorry. I know I'm annoying you with my crying –"

"You're not seriously apologising for _crying_ are you woman?" I ask her, irritated.

"Well..." She begins, and I cut her off.

"Cry all you fucking want, I don't give a shit, but please tell me you plan on going to sleep sometime soon 'cause I'm fucking knackered." I say, stifling a yawn.

She nods.

"Thank fuck for that." I mutter.

"I wanna take a shower first though..." She says timidly.

I motion to the bathroom impatiently. "Go on then."

She looks down at her clothes.

"But...but I haven't got any other thing to wear."

"Oh yeah." I tut. "Alice was meant to bring you something." I purse my lips, scratching my eyebrow with my middle finger as I think. "Well, she's bringing you something to wear in the morning so you can wait till then to shower if you want."

She sucks on her bottom lip a moment, and then nods.

**TTT**

We're back on the road by eleven the next morning, after we both shower and she puts on Esme's jeans and sweater that Alice brought for her, along with the white Nikes and the new underwear. The radio's on, and she's left it at an oldies rock station this time. We're both silent as the car glides silently and swiftly along the motorway.

I notice her glancing at me nervously every now and then, after about an hour and a half of driving, and it begins to annoy me.

"What?" I ask sharply, and she starts.

"I...I need to pee."

I groan. "Oh, you're 'aving a fucking laugh ain't ya?" I ask incredulously, the East Londoner in me coming out at full force.

"Um...?" She replies.

"Why didn't you piss back at the hotel?"

"I did!" She says. "I just...need to go again." I see her face reddening in my periphery.

"This better not be an attempt at escaping, woman." I warn through clenched teeth. "Because I'm not in the fucking mood for it."

We drive on for a few minutes more until I spot a petrol station. I need to fill up the tank anyway so I decide to stop there. Hopefully they have a toilet.

I park up, step out of the car and walk around to the passenger side. I open the door for her, grabbing her arm and yanking her out. We walk over to a door marked 'Ladies' and I push her in, before following in after her.

She turns to gape at me, mouth hanging open in shock.

I raise my eyebrows. "What, did you think I was gonna let you come in here by yourself? Do I look like an idiot?"

She shakes her head minutely, and goes into one of the cubicles, and I hear the scrape of the lock. Then I hear the sound of a zip, and then the sound of her piss hitting the toilet water. She pisses for quite a while, and I wonder where the hell all that liquid came from. Finally she finishes, and I hear the rustling of toilet paper as she wipes herself, then I hear her zipping up her jeans again and she flushes the toilet and walks out of the cubicle.

She blushes when her eyes meet mine, as I'm leaning against the basin opposite the cubicle she comes out of. She stands at the basin next to me, squeezing soap on her hands and washing them under the warm tap.

I grab her arm again, tugging her out of the toilet and we make our way over to the car, which is parked by a petrol tank, seeing as I need to fill it up.

Halfway over to it,

The car, my Aston Martin Vanquish, explodes.

All I register is an eardrum popping boom, and all I see are the billows of bright orange flames engulfing it, and all I feel are the bits of glass and metal flying off of it and hitting my face as I'm frozen for about five seconds, slack jawed and wide eyed, as my car goes up in flames.

And then, instantaneously, without even thinking about it, I pull her flush against me, securing one arm around her waist and one arm nestled in her hair at the back of her head, and turning us around so my back is to the explosion, and then I crouch down, pulling her with me and shielding her from the flying pieces of debris.

She's quivering under me, but I don't notice as my eyes are trained over my shoulder, at the now burning, charred hulk of metal that was once my beautiful car.

And suddenly, I know exactly who's responsible for it.

And as the thought of that person creeps into my head, I feel my body tensing with rage, my breathing becomes laboured and my chest heaves with fury, and I clench and unclench my jaw in order to keep calm, but it's difficult.

Because how can I keep calm, when I'm one hundred percent certain that I'm gonna kill that cunt?

* * *

**A/N: Link to Ed's gun is on my profile page if you wanna see it. I think it's quite pretty. :)**

**E.T.A: Never mind, link's not working.**


	3. The Inconvenience

**The Inconvenience**

* * *

**~B.S.~**

_Oh my God._

That's the only thought that's running through my head at the moment.

His car has just blown up a few feet away from us, so I guess 'Oh my God' is an appropriate response considering the situation, except I'm not thinking, 'Oh my God' because of the car blowing up. In fact, I couldn't give a damn about the car. I mean, how could I?

_How could I _when he's practically _hugging _me?!

He crouched down, and pulled me down with him when the car exploded. I, of course, fell down clumsily, and landed heavily on my rear, pulling him forward until he nearly fell on top of me, but he managed to keep his balance and is sort of, hovering above me, kneeling so his legs are on either side of my thighs, sort of _straddling me_. So I'm sitting on my ass in between his knees and he's got his arm tightly around my waist – just underneath my boobs actually – and he's holding my head and practically shoving my face into the crook of his _neck._

And _oh my God._

He smells fucking heavenly.

I swear I'm like, intoxicated by it or something because all I can do is inhale him while thinking, _Oh my God, _and I'm pretty sure it's not a normal reaction for someone whose being kidnapped to be sniffing their kidnapper's neck as if it were a drug. Especially when said kidnapper's car has randomly blown up and you could have been blown up with it if you hadn't happened to need to pee, and _especially _when said kidnapper has been holding up a gun to your face and yelling at you constantly.

But I can't help it. He smells so _good._

He smells of man, and soap, and male, and shampoo, and guy, and cologne with a hint of sexy thrown in.

After a while though, all is silent, and the car seems to have stopped exploding, though I can still hear crackling flames, and see thick, dark grey smoke billowing into the air in my periphery, and he suddenly lets go of me, and I almost fall back onto the concrete. He stands, walking over to the car slowly, and I'm pretty sure that's a bad idea, I mean, what if it's not done exploding yet? He keeps walking towards it, and I can only see his back, his jeans hugging his hips and showing off his tight, firm, squeezable looking ass...

His hands are in tight fists at his side, and his fingers on his right hand flex over his pocket periodically, and I know that that pocket is the one that contains his gun. His posture is stiff, his footsteps slow and measured as he moves closer and closer to the car. He appears to be furious.

A crowd of about six people are hovering in a loose semicircle around the car, though they're keeping their distance. The store clerks are watching from the store window, mouths agape in shock. There is an edgy quiet, in which we are all staring at him, the few spectators whispering to each other, wondering – like me – what the hell he's going to do, and what the hell has just happened.

He stops, when he's about twelve inches before the wreckage, and a hush immediately fills the scene, and it seems as though we're all holding our breaths. The only sounds left are the quiet crackling of the fire on the car, and his breathing, which is deep and laboured.

He's furious.

Almost inaudibly, I hear him murmur angrily, "_fucking_ arsehole."

He walks around the burnt car slowly, inspecting it, his hand still twitching by his pocket, and I hear him mumbling what sounds like a string of profanities, most of them inaudible.

His eyes snap up to me suddenly, as if he just remembers that I'm still here; and it suddenly occurs to me that I could have run away, that I could have gotten help whilst he had been distracted. He walks over to me swiftly; his face hard and set into a deep scowl. He grabs my arm and pulls me up, digging into his back pocket and pulling out his cell phone. I notice that the six spectators and the store clerks have now all turned their puzzled, shocked gazes on us, and he glances around quickly, obviously noticing them too.

"I had an oil leak." He says; his voice low and husky. "I didn't know, and stupidly dropped a fucking cigarette stub next to it, hence the explosion. Don't worry about it though, I'm calling someone now to come and take care of it." He says, almost chillingly calm, though the rage is very obviously bubbling underneath his skin. His grip on my arm is painful, and I try not to grimace.

The people, four guys and two women, stare at him warily, seeming to think about his explanation, before one dark haired guy nods and tentatively takes a step towards us. I see his hand twitch at his pocket as the man approaches and I start perspiring in fear. _Please don't let him pull out that gun. _I silently pray.

"You sure you don't need any help dude?" The man asks. "I mean, we could call the fire brigade or something, they'll probably get here faster than whoever –"

"No." He snaps, cutting off the guy. "Thanks, but I'll sort this."

"Your girlfriend looks scared, I mean, is she hurt? Are you hurt? You might need an ambulance or something –"

His jaw juts out, and he scratches at his left eyebrow with the antenna of his cell phone as he glares at the guy in annoyance. He doesn't say anything, but the look of rage on his face is enough.

The guy stops midsentence and starts retreating slowly, his eyes widening a little as he takes in _Edward's _expression. He swallows. "Ok, you know what? Never mind, I can see you got this." He smiles timidly, and backs away.

He tugs at my arm roughly, and drags me back to the bathroom. Once inside he shuts the door and twists the knob – locking us both inside. He leans against the door heavily, his chest rising and falling with fury, and his tongue comes out to brush along his top lip. He looks at the phone – which he's clutching so tightly it's as if he wants it imbedded in his palm – for a long moment, as if thinking about what to do with it, and then his turquoise eyes dart to mine.

I've backed myself up against the wall opposite the bathroom door, and my eye sockets enlarge as our eyeballs lock. I'm scared, more than just scared actually because he looks absolutely livid, _murderously _angry. His tongue is still running along his top lip slowly, and his dark eyebrows are low on his face, hooding his eyes even more than usual, a deep wrinkle between them. They make his eyes look sunken and dark, and creepy, and it sends a chill through me.

He's leaning against the door by his shoulders, his hips protruding before him, emphasising his long, lean legs. I can't help lowering my gaze after his intense glare becomes too much, and I find that my eyes are drawn to his crotch. _Jesus Bella, what is wrong with you? _I internally scold myself, because how I can even think about his crotch at the moment is remarkable. The bulge of the small gun in his jeans pocket seems very prominent all of a sudden. I can almost see a clear outline of it straining against his thigh.

He stares at me for a moment, unblinking, and then suddenly he pushes himself away from the door. I gasp at the sudden movement, trying to back up more, which is useless, seeing as I'm already pressed against the wall.

But he doesn't walk towards me, like I thought he would. He paces back and forth in the small space in front of the bathroom door, occasionally kicking at the door of a stall aggressively as he does, muttering more inaudible profanities and once in a while I hear the name, 'James' come from his lips. I'm shitting myself now; because I'm _locked_ in a bathroom in the middle of God knows where with an enraged lunatic with a gun. All I can do is stare at him in puzzlement, my eyes following his every movement, flinching every time he kicks at the door.

Eventually he seems to get tired, and he leans over the sink, breathing heavily and staring at his face in the mirror. His forehead is glistening with sweat, strands of his unruly hair sticking to it. He opens the cold tap and dips his head under it, drenching his hair and face. When he's satisfied, he closes the tap and stands up straight, shaking his hair minutely and causing droplets of water to fly everywhere and hit my face.

He turns back to me and he seems to have calmed significantly. His eyes wander over my face quickly; and then briefly over my body, before he meets my eyes. "Are you alright?" He asks quietly, and I nod. He continues staring into my eyes, and I begin to shift uncomfortably at the intensity. He sighs. "I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks; an odd tone of concern punctuating his words. I shake my head.

His eyes leave mine, thankfully, and he presses a button on his cell before bringing it up to his ear.

"Alice. I need a car." He says into the phone.

**TTT**

**-E.M.-**

"What's happened to the Vanquish?" Her tone is one of shock, and I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose in annoyance.

"It's a long fucking story, and I'll tell you it later, but right now I need a car, and I need it quickly."

"Ok, where are you?" She asks.

"At a petrol station somewhere, I don't fucking remember the name."

I can almost hear her eyes rolling. "Great fucking help Edward."

I sigh impatiently. I'm not in the mood for her smart remarks and I really don't need to get angry again. She's so fucking annoying. "Look Alice, stop fucking about alright?" I say through clenched teeth. "I need a car and I need it A.S.A.P. Get Esme to trace my fucking phone to find out where I am. There's a bunch of people who are gonna get suspicious soon, if they aren't already, and I need to get the fuck out of here."

I hang up before she can say another word, and start dialling Jasper's number quickly, annoyed that I didn't put him on my speed dial.

"E." He answers.

"Jay. I need a fucking fire extinguisher."

There's a pause before he says, "Do I really wanna know why?"

"Yeah you do, because I'm gonna need your help, but I can't explain it now. Just trace my phone and get down here with it as quick as you can. And come in uniform."

"Ok. I'm on it." He hangs up.

See, that's why Jasper and I get along well. He knows when to ask questions and when to leave shit alone. He doesn't talk a lot and annoy the shit out of me when I'm pissed off, unlike Alice.

When I put my phone back in my pocket, I lean against the basin, not giving a shit if my jeans are getting wet, and I sigh as I glance over at the Swan girl again. She's pressed against the wall, looking fucking terrified of me. I have a sudden urge to hold her again, to _protect_ her, to press her soft, warm body against mine. I was too pissed to really take it in at the time, but she smelt fantastic, her hair felt really silky and soft in my palm, and I could feel her plump lips pressed into my neck when I was holding her head, shielding her from the flying pieces of metal.

"Are you sure you're ok?" I ask her again, moving cautiously towards her, where she's pinned herself against the wall. She nods frantically and tenses her body, pushing herself impossibly further into the wall like she wants to just melt into it. I sigh, halting my footsteps. "I'm not gonna hurt you, I promise." I say gently. I continue on towards her, holding her eyes, until I'm stood just in front of her. She lowers her gaze to her feet, her body still tensed.

"Hey," I say softly, "I'm just gonna check you out a bit, make sure you're not hurt, ok? I won't hurt you." I tell her again, and she looks up at me from under her dark lashes apprehensively. She nods quickly when our eyes lock, and then she looks down again.

I slowly reach out for her face, cupping her soft cheeks in my palms, as I lift her head up. Her eyes are closed, and there's a little crease between her eyebrows, indicating her fear. Her cheeks are a bit flushed, though I can't think why, but the rest of her face is flawless and pale. She's got a beauty mark above, and on the side of her full lips, which are parted slightly, revealing a slither of her white teeth. She's breathing shallowly, and her warm breath is fanning across my face, and although I'm supposed to be checking her out for cuts and pieces of glass embedded in her skin, I can't help but just..._check her out. _

She really is gorgeous, and the way her face is at the moment almost looks like she's waiting for a kiss, and I realise that the way I'm standing before her and holding her face actually looks like I'm about to kiss her. If someone were to walk into the bathroom and see us like this, they would think that that was what we were about to do. In fact, if I were to lean forward only slightly I would be kissing her, and her lips look really..._kissable._

She lifts up her eyelids suddenly, and her light brown eyes are staring back at me. They're afraid – always afraid – and sad, and pleading, and confused – and it's there again, the fucking guilt. I wonder again what that guy wants with her, what she did to piss him off, what he plans on doing to her when I drop her off to him. I'm not lying to her when I tell her I'm not going to hurt her, because I'm not, but I can't tell her that she won't get hurt because I don't know what that guy plans on doing to her. He might hurt her.

He could very well kill her.

I shake my head minutely and let go of her face, looking away from her piercing eyes, and trying to rid myself of the guilty thoughts. This is the one fucking problem I have with transporting people, the one thing that makes me hesitant to accept certain jobs – I start to get compassionate towards them, I start to feel _bad _for doing what I'm doing.

"You're fine." I say quietly, and turn away from her, moving back over to the basins, needing to get away from her pretty face and her proximity, because it's making me nuts.

"You've got a..." I turn to her, startled when I hear her soft voice. "You've got a small cut, on your forehead." She says.

I reach up and feel the cut on my head. It stings a bit, but it's not bad. I smile at her gratefully. "It's fine; it's just a little scrape." I tell her.

She smiles in return.

A sudden knock on the bathroom door startles us both, and our eyes dart over to it. I place my index finger over my lips, telling her to keep silent, and walk over to the door.

"Yes?" I call out.

"It's Alice." She says, and I sigh in relief, opening the door.

She walks into the bathroom, her nose scrunched up in disgust, even though it doesn't even really smell. "Ugh, why are you in here?" She asks.

"Because I didn't wanna go nuts out there where we've got an audience, they'd probably call the police. Plus," I glance over at the Swan girl to find that she's staring at me, averting her eyes quickly when I look in her direction. "Plus, I didn't want her to try and escape."

Alice pauses, leaning against the basin and folding her arms. "So, how did the Vanquish end up looking like that? Tell me or I'm not giving you the keys to your new car." She dangles the keys in front of my face before snatching it back quickly when I try to grab them.

I sigh, ruffling my still damp hair and flicking droplets of water in her face.

"What the hell is that?" She cries, swiping at her face. "Is it sweat? Did you just flick your sweat in my face?"

I laugh. "It's only water. Relax."

"Well, who blew up your Vanquish?" She asks persistently.

"I dunno, but I think it was that fucking tosser, James." My face morphs into a frown as I say his name, lips curling up in a sneer.

Alice frowns. "James? Really? But why would he?"

I shrug. "Cos he's a prick."

Alice looks confused. "But...blowing up your car? I mean, why would he do that? I don't get it."

I look at her, an eyebrow raised. "Alice, I was supposed to be in the car when it blew up."

James Anderson, transporter for _The Nomads_ – stupid fucking name if you ask me – and now my one true enemy, is a little cunt who's jealous of me. Well, he's jealous of our whole fucking group actually because _The Cullen Clan_ – cheesy as fuck name which I _pleaded _with Carlisle to change but he refused – is better than _The Nomads, _meaning we get people coming to us first, and only going to them if we can't do whatever they need us to do. This also means we have more money than them. He hates me the most, naturally, because we both do the same thing for our groups, yet I get shitloads more work and money for it than he does. Also, the fact that his girlfriend, Victoria Yates, is my ex irks the fuck out of him.

We've met up a few times, because Carlisle and the leader of _The Nomads, _Laurent Renoir, are amicable, and Carlisle's invited them to a few parties he's had and vice versa. James and I usually just exchange hostile looks, and smug smiles, and cutting words, and occasionally I've flirted with Victoria, just to piss him off. We've also gotten into a few fist fights, mostly when we're drunk, and the last time I fucked up his face he swore he would get me back. He looked fucking furious that night, but I brushed off his comment, I mean, the rivalry between us was petty, it wasn't a serious thing – well I'd _thought _it wasn't.

Apparently James had thought otherwise if it was him who had attached a bomb to the underside of the Vanquish – and I was pretty sure it was him. And if he was trying to kill me...well...here's a perfect example of a time when shooting is going to be absolutely necessary. It's me or him, and I'm certainly not going down without a fucking fight. The wanker started this shit, and I'm gonna fucking finish it. He probably thinks I'm dead now, which is fantastic, because he won't see me coming.

Alice's eyes widen incredulously and she gasps, her palm flying up to her chest dramatically. "You think he was trying to..._kill _you?"

I raise my eyebrows at her as if to say, 'well, duh'.

The Swan girl gasps too, and Alice looks over at her. "You ok?" She asks.

**TTT**

I laugh humourlessly. "Alice, you're fucking priceless you know that?"

She rolls her eyes. "Edward, you wanted a car _A.S.A.P _remember? This is the only car I was able to get on such short notice."

"A _Volvo?_" I say incredulously. "A fucking _Volvo_? Of all the cars to get Alice, you seriously went and picked my least favourite fucking car in the world?"

She sighs. "Well, if you don't want it then I'll take it back!"

"Just leave it. I ain't got time for that. Has it been customised?"

"Of course."

A fire truck comes rolling around the corner then, and I spot Jasper in the passenger side. It parks on the side of the road, and Jasper and another guy dressed in a fireman uniform come out. I say the guy is _dressed _in a fireman uniform and not that he's an actual fireman, because with Jasper, you could never be certain.

The fireman walks around to the back of the truck and starts pulling out the large hose while Jasper stalks over to us, his hands in the pocket of his pants. He's in uniform, so the small audience of nosy fuckers all follow him with wide eyes, obviously wondering why a cop is here too.

He smirks when he reaches us, casting a quick glance over to the Swan girl who I'm holding around the waist, trying to make it look like she's actually my girlfriend.

"How the fuck did that happen?" He asks, lazily motioning behind him to where the fireman is now putting out the fire on the car.

"Someone attached a bomb to it. He thinks it was James." Alice answers for me.

Jasper's eyebrow elevates. "Really? Want me to check it out for you?"

I nod silently.

Jasper nods in response, scratching at the stubble on his chin with his thumb absently. He looks over to the Swan girl again, properly this time, his pale green eyes roaming her body, and I start to shift uncomfortably, pulling her a little closer to my side because it's irritating me a bit.

"Stop looking at her like that Jay, you're fucking scaring her." It comes out a little sharper than I intended, and both Alice and Jasper quirk an eyebrow at me.

I push the button on the car key, unlocking the fucking Volvo; then I remove my arm from her waist and grab her hand, tugging her over to it. I open the door and put her in the passenger seat.

"In case you're wondering, yes, this car also doesn't open from the inside, and yes, the windows are bulletproof." I say to her. "But you can touch what the fuck you want in this one cos I don't give a shit about it." I close the door and walk back over to Alice and Jasper.

Jasper smirks. "She looks different from that picture huh? A lot more...mature."

The way he says it kind of pisses me off, and he's peering over at the car at her, his thumb still scratching at his chin.

"She's hot isn't she?" Alice chimes in, also smirking. "I wonder if she's ever experimented before..."

I groan. "For fuck sake Alice, I'm doing a job here."

Alice chuckles. "I know, I know. A girl can wonder can't she? Geez."

Jasper laughs too, and they're both getting on my nerves now.

"We need to go, I've gotta get to the next rest stop and call Carlisle. What's the address of the hotel Alice?" I ask her irritably. I just want to get away from the pair of them.

She grins, and reaches up to pinch my cheek. "What's wrong with you? Still pissed off about the Vanquish?" She teases. I don't answer, and pull my face away from her dainty fingers. "I'm coming with you for a bit, I need a ride, so I'll direct you to the hotel." She winks at me impishly before walking over to the car, and I rub my hand over my face in annoyance.

Jasper snickers, shaking his head at me.

"What?" I ask him through clenched teeth.

He shrugs, sticking out his bottom lip and frowning as if to say, 'what? I didn't say anything.'

I glare at him for a moment before sighing. "You're sorting this out for me right?" I ask, motioning over to the blackened, twisted piece of metal that was my car. He nods. "Thanks. I'll call you later, to discuss the James thing." He holds up two fingers to his head and salutes me, and I make my way over to the Volvo where Alice is now waiting in the back seat.

I drive off, glancing at Jasper in the rear view to find that irritating smirk on his face once again.


	4. The Second Stop

**The Second Stop**

* * *

**~B.S~**

"So, your name's Isabella, right?"

I turn my head to the left awkwardly, to glance at the small, black haired woman who is sat leaning forwards in the back seat, right in between the driver and passenger seat, with her face uncomfortably close to my left shoulder.

When I turn my head, my nose almost touches hers.

"Um, yeah," I reply, clearing my throat, because those are the first words I've spoken in over an hour, and also because her proximity is startling.

She nods, and cocks her head to the side a little so her almond shaped, grey eyes are directly in my line of sight. She narrows her eyes a little, staring directly into mine, and I find myself blushing, so I turn my head forwards again, trying to focus my attention on the road.

"That's a nice name," she remarks, her right forearm resting on my seat, just next to the headrest. Her petite fingers are casually hanging by the nape of my neck, and I feel them fluttering as she runs the very tips lightly through the unruly strands of hair that have fallen out of my bun. It feels very..._personal, _you know, definitely not the sort of thing you'd do to just anyone, especially someone you don't even know and were hired to _kidnap_. She's making me uneasy and I feel my face growing warmer as I lean forwards slightly, trying to escape her fluttering fingers.

"You're half Italian," she says, and I jump because her lips are right at my left ear as she says this. In fact, her lips brush against my lobe as her hot breath tickles my ear. Again, I lean away from her.

_What the hell is up with this woman? _

_And wait...how did she know I was half Italian?_

"Yeah, I am."

He – _Edward – _has been silent for the most part, answering with one worded answers, or hums or grunts when the black haired woman – _Alice – _asks him something.

She's been the only one talking for the entire journey, babbling on about...well...everything and anything really, and not even seeming like she gives a fuck whether we're listening or not. I wasn't listening, until she just spoke to me directly, and I'm pretty sure he wasn't either.

I glance at him quickly from the side of my eye, and I see that he still looks mad. His face is in a light scowl, a slight crease between his eyebrows, his angular jaw line constantly pulsing as he clenches and unclenches his teeth. He keeps his eyes trained meticulously on the road, his grip taut on the steering wheel.

However, as I continue inconspicuously peeking at him, he seems to sense it or something because suddenly he tears his turquoise eyes from the road and his meticulous gaze shifts to me. Our eyes meet for a split second before I hastily look away.

"Can you speak it?"

Alice's lips are at my ear again, and she sort of half whispers, her fingers trailing up my neck lightly. I shiver a little, because she's making me feel _really_ awkward now.

"Um, excuse me?" I ask, moving further away from her until I'm pressing myself into the car door.

"Italian," she continues in her half whisper, "Can you speak it?"

"A little."

"Can you understand it?"

"Yeah."

"Really?" She says, and I can hear a smile in her tone. "I can speak a little Italian myself. I mean, I'm not fluent or anything, but I can hold a simple conversation."

I nod stiffly, tensing as she transfers her arm around to the right side of my seat – where I've moved to, to try to escape her closeness – and her fingers boldly return to my neck, stroking it softly with her fingertips.

Then her lips are at my ear again as she whispers, "ti trovo molto..._attraente_, Isabella."

_Oh my God. _She just told me that she finds me very _attractive. _

Wait, is she a...?

"Alice!" He yells suddenly, causing both of us to jump. "Leave her alone."

Alice finally removes her hand and face away from me, leaning back in the back seat.

She snickers quietly. "Oh relax, Edward, I'm only trying to calm her down a little, seeing as you scare the shit out of her with your gun pointing and constant yelling."

"And how the fuck is flirting with her gonna relax her?" He asks through clenched teeth.

_Flirting _with me?

"I don't know, but she seemed to be enjoying it," Alice retorts.

He scoffs. "She's practically falling out of the car door trying to get away from you, Alice."

"Well, she was blushing."

"Yeah, because you're embarrassing her."

They're talking about me as if I'm not even here, which is pretty rude, but who am I to get indignant? I'm only their hostage after all. I sit silently, listening to their bickering, when he suddenly turns to me, his eyes roving over my face intently.

"Isabella," he says, and my heart starts pounding quicker at the way my name sounds coming from his mouth. His voice, coupled with his accent, makes it sound really fucking hot. I actually don't like people calling me 'Isabella', but for him I can _definitely_ make an exception. "Just in case you haven't noticed – and you'd have to be an idiot not to, seeing as she's practically sexually harassing you – Alice here, is a carpet muncher."

"Hey!" Alice's tiny hand connects with the side of his head swiftly.

He half chuckles, half hisses, letting go of the steering wheel with one hand to rub at his head. "Jesus, Alice, that fucking 'urt," he mutters.

"I've warned you about calling me that, you shithead."

He rolls his eyes. "Alice is a _lesbian_, and apparently," he turns to look at me with a teasing smirk, "she finds you attractive."

I blush again, partly at his words, and partly at his smile.

Ok, mostly at his smile.

His soft, pink lips curve up unevenly, the right side of his lips curving just a little more than the left, and God, his cheekbones are to die for. They're more pronounced, high and Greek god statue-like, and his eyes squint a little so they crinkle up at the corners, making his smile have a sexy, yet mischievous schoolboy look about it.

His smile is fucking beautiful.

And so I'm blushing hard as I look away from him, from that smirk, and divert my attention to my thighs.

"See, she's blushing again. Told you she liked it," Alice remarks, and I can feel her hovering next to me so she's probably leaning forward from the back seat again. "Besides," she continues offhandedly, "I'm not the _only_ one who thinks you're hot, Isabella, believe me..." She trails off with a snicker.

_What?!_

I can feel him looking at me again, and his voice is soft as he says, "she's embarrassed. Leave her alone, Al, I mean it. I'll stop the car and dump you out here, in the middle of...wherever the fuck we are, if you don't."

"You wouldn't dare."

"Try me."

**TTT**

We've been driving for about two hours now, and Alice – thankfully – has been quiet since he threatened her. I can hear her humming along to the radio occasionally so I know she's still awake, but she doesn't try to _flirt _with me anymore, and her constant chatter has dwindled to a few random comments every now and then.

Edward is completely silent again, all traces of his playful banter with Alice, and gorgeous, teasing smirk completely erased. He's not scowling anymore, at least, but his face is impassive, and although he's paying careful attention to the road, it's obvious that his thoughts are miles away.

Kings of Leon's _Use Somebody _comes on the radio, and I automatically reach out to turn the radio up, like I'd usually do in my own car, seeing as I like that song – when his hand reaches out for the radio simultaneously.

Our fingers brush, his long ones lightly entangling with my short ones for the briefest moment, before we both snatch our hands back quickly.

I immediately redden, because although it was accidental, the contact felt very..._intimate._

"Sorry," I mumble, looking at my lap again, "I err, was just gonna turn it up a little."

He clears his throat, and in my periphery I see his fingers raking through his hair quickly before he gestures to the radio.

"Go ahead, I didn't know you wanted to listen to it, I was just about to change the station."

I reach out for the radio again, hesitating slightly, before I turn the knob a little to the right, turning the music up a fraction.

Alice is chortling from the backseat. "Edward hates this song."

"I don't hate it," he mutters, "I'm just fucking sick of it."

I peek up at him from under my lashes. "You don't like, Kings of Leon?" I ask. I know there's no point of making conversation with them, but I do it anyway.

His eyes dart to me quickly, and his eyebrows elevate ever so slightly, as if he's surprised.

Alice snickers.

He does the hand raking through his hair thing again before answering, "Actually, I'm a big fan of the Kings. Radio stations just love to batter songs to death." He shrugs his surprisingly broad shoulders. "I prefer their older stuff though; their new stuff is a bit too...pop."

I nod. "I haven't heard any of their old stuff."

"Well, maybe I could..." He stops suddenly and frowns, and I notice his lips moving as he murmurs something silently to himself. "Never mind," he finishes, and then he's silent, jaw tensed once again, his grip on the steering wheel firmer as he stares ahead.

There's an awkward silence.

Until Alice breaks it.

"I love the lead singer's voice," she says.

And then it's back to the silence.

**TTT**

It's about five thirty in the evening when we finally reach the hotel.

He parks in the parking lot of the hotel, and we sit in the car for a moment as he checks the details of the booking.

"What name did you put it under?"

"Masen, of course."

He nods, before turning around to glare at Alice. "You better not have booked another honeymoon suite, Alice," he warns.

She rolls her eyes. "And if I have?"

He glares at her silently for a moment, before he opens his door.

"Wait in the car for a bit; I need to make a few calls."

"Why can't you make them in the car?"

He ignores her and steps out of the car, slamming the door behind him. I see him reaching in his back pocket, and he pulls out his cell phone with his thumb and index finger. I stare at his rear a little longer than necessary as he walks a few feet away from the car, holding his cell up to his ear as he does.

Alice is laughing quietly again, and I can't, for the life of me, figure out why she keeps laughing.

"He does have a pretty nice ass – for a guy," she says.

My eyes widen and I feel the heat spread across my face like wildfire. _She caught me ogling his ass!_

She leans forward again, her hand resting on the back of my seat, her face once again too close for comfort as she whispers, "But I think yours is better."

_Oh my God. _She's hitting on me again.

She studies my face for a moment, before her face spreads in a wide grin, and she leans back again, laughing heartily. "I'm only fucking with ya, babe, no need to look so terrified," she exclaims through chuckles.

I sigh in relief.

When she finally stops laughing, she looks out of the window at Edward, who seems to be having a very heated conversation on his cell, judging by the way he's gesticulating furiously.

"He's twenty three."

"Excuse me?" I ask, puzzled.

"Edward. He's twenty three."

"Um...ok?" I have no idea why she's telling me this.

"He hasn't got a girlfriend at the moment either," she says, and I can hear a smile punctuating her words.

_Wait...what? Why is she telling me this?! _Does she honestly think that I'm..._interested_ in him, _like that_ – a guy who was hired to _kidnap_ me by some mystery person? Is she crazy?

_But then again Bella, you _have _been checking him out at every chance you get._

"He's not a bad guy, babe," she continues, "he likes to put on a tough guy exterior for his job, because most of the time he needs to, but he's harmless really. He has a temper, but it never really goes anywhere, you know? He sort of, flares up and then you expect a huge explosion from him or something, but you just get this little pop instead." She laughs. "It's quite funny really. That's why I love pissing him off on purpose. He's kind of endearing when he's mad, you know, like a little puppy."

She shakes her head fondly at his long form, a miniscule grin on her face, as we watch him pacing up and down the parking lot, still talking animatedly on his cell. He looks mad again.

"Who's he talking to?" I ask. Weirdly, I'm starting to feel sort of, _comfortable _with her.

"I don't know," she replies absently, still gazing out of the window at him. "Jasper, maybe. Or Carlisle. Or Emmett."

After a while he strides over to the car, opening the back door for Alice first, before they both come around to the passenger side and he opens my door.

Instead of dragging me out by my arm, like he's been doing, he holds out his hand to me.

I stare at it in surprise and confusion for a moment, before he sighs impatiently.

"We haven't got all day, woman."

I tentatively situate my hand in his open palm, and he hoists me out of the car, placing his other hand lightly on my waist when I sway slightly. He stands there, his fingers still wrapped around my hand, his other hand at my waist, still – unnecessarily – holding it, and his ocean coloured eyes burn into mine.

His lips move silently and quickly, and although I can't hear what he's saying, I can lip read pretty well. "Sei molto attraente," he mouths, and I'm certain that I'm not imagining his beautifully crooked lips turning up at the corners minutely, in a trace of that gorgeous smile.

_Oh my God._

I nearly melt right there, at his feet, because I'm sure that I read his lips right. He just told me that I was _very _attractive.

_In Italian._

I don't – I _can't_ – look away, because his eyes are sort of..._hypnotizing_ me. It's almost involuntary. They're so pretty, and intense, and captivating, as he steadily stares at me, smoldering all traces of self preservation I have left – if I had any to begin with. I look up at his – my kidnapper's – handsome face – and I stare back.

Alice clears her throat delicately, and he immediately releases me from his grip and his gaze, stepping back abruptly, before he suddenly remembers that he's supposed to be keeping hold of me – and it's back to the arm grabbing.

He holds my arm at length, as if he's afraid he'll get cooties or something, making sure there's a gap between our bodies as we walk up to the hotel. I'm still red-faced from the strange moment we just had, and it's almost as if he's a walking furnace. I can feel his..._heat _or whatever it is, emanating off him, and it makes me _very _aware of his body next to mine.

We check in at the front desk, and make our way up to the suite in silence.

And it's a very awkward silence.

**TTT**

We've been in the suite for about an hour now. Alice and I have been sitting on the couch, while Edward has been pacing, walking in and out of the bedroom, constantly on his cell phone. I strain to hear what he's talking about, because he's practically growling into the phone, but I can only make out a few random words every once in a while. I do hear the name, 'James', frequently, usually following a swear word, and from what I gathered earlier on in the bathroom at the gas station, James is the guy that blew up the car.

There's a light knock at the door and Edward rushes over to it before Alice can even stand up from the couch, muttering an angry, "it's about fucking time."

I hear a voice, and I'm a little surprised to hear that it's female. I had been expecting it to be that huge, muscled, intimidating guy that had come to the other hotel room. I guess he was a bodyguard of some sort, put there so I wouldn't get away. Not that I would have bothered trying anyway.

The woman sounds very..._cheerful? _Edward is griping about how she took _too_ _fucking long_ to get here, and she just laughs, telling him to stop being so impatient. I want to turn around to look at her, but I'm afraid to, so I just sit silently, my knees up to my chin like a shield.

"Is that her?" I hear the cheerful sounding woman ask.

"Obviously. Who else could it be?"

"Edward, I'm doing you a favour here, so you better cut the fucking attitude." Her voice is suddenly authoritative, somewhat..._motherly _in tone, but the type of mother you don't want to mess with.

I'm shocked to hear Edward mutter – quite sheepishly, "Sorry. I have to delay this job because of that prick, and it's pissing me off. Thanks for doing this though, Ez, I really appreciate it."

She's back to her previous cheerfulness. "You're welcome. Now, go, Carl and Emmett are waiting downstairs."

_Where's he's going?_

"She's been pretty cooperative so far, but don't let your guard down," he says to her, and although I can't see him from where I'm sitting, I _feel _him looking at me. There's a brief pause before he says, "I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Take as long as you need," the woman replies.

Alice gets up from the couch, lazily stretching out her petite frame in a very catlike manner, and smoothing out her shirt.

"C'mon, Ed, let's go," she says through a yawn.

_She's going too?_

"You're not fucking coming, Alice,"

She scoffs. "Yes, I fucking am, Edward."

He groans exasperatedly. "What help are you gonna be, Alice? Seriously, what the fuck do you need to be there for? We've got cars, Em's got the guns, Jay's got the police sorted...You'll just be taking up space."

_Guns?!_

She lifts her shoulders up to her ears and drops them again in an exaggerated shrug. "I can...keep lookout or something."

"Jasper's doing that." I can tell that his teeth are clenched.

Alice sighs deeply, rolling her eyes. "I'm coming, Edward," she says, and there's a clear air of finality in her tone. At that she walks over to the door calling out, "later, Ez."

The woman laughs and I hear Edward muttering something no doubt profane, before he follows, slamming the door behind him.

The hotel suite is in a ringing silence as their footsteps and their voices – they're arguing again – fade as they head away from the room. I hold my breath, tensing as I hear the clacking of heels on the hardwood floor, approaching the couch.

The woman plops down heavily on the couch, and turns to me, a friendly smile curving her lips. She's pretty, with caramel coloured, curly hair held up in some sort of hairclip. Her face is soft, rounded, and she has large, bright hazel eyes. Her lips are a little on the thin side, the red lipstick she's wearing barely standing out the way it should be. She's in a beige skirt suit, with a white blouse underneath, and tan coloured pantyhose, ending in beige coloured ankle length, high heeled boots. She looks older than me, older than Edward too, and maybe Alice, but she can't be older than thirty.

She holds out a manicured hand to me, her hazel eyes keeping a steady focus on mine, smile unyielding. "I'm Esme," she says, her tone still chipper.

I stare at her long, slim fingers hesitantly. Her nails are longish, painted a pearly pink. Her palm looks very soft, and inviting.

_What a weird thought to have about someone's hand._

I only snap out of my stupor when she chuckles lightly, and then I grab hold of her hand in a clumsy handshake, muttering a, "sorry."

Her palm _is_ very soft. Sort of reminds me of Renee's...

I quickly divert my thoughts away from my mom, because I don't even know if I'm ever going to see her again, and that thought already has the telltale tingle of tears brewing behind my eyeballs. The last thing I need to do is to start blubbering again.

"I'm starved. I'm gonna order some food. You want some?" She asks.

I nod, unwilling to trust myself to speak right now, because speaking would no doubt open the floodgates.

_Please don't let these goddamn tears spill, _I silently plead with my tear ducts, trying very hard not to blink as I keep my eyes averted from _Esme, _because the tears are definitely there. One blink and they would flow in rivulets down my cheeks.

"Hey," I'm startled as I feel an arm brush against my nape and a soft, Renee-like hand squeezes my shoulder, and pulls me into a soft, curvy body.

And I blink.

The next instant I'm sobbing. The tears flow quickly, warm and wet, blurring my vision as I try – in vain – to stop them. Esme's arm stays around my shoulder, and she squeezes me soothingly as I sob and sniff, because my nose always fucking runs when I cry. She does feel pretty comforting, and that just makes me cry harder because she really reminds me of Renee. Renee may be flighty, and a crappy cook, and an even crappier housewife, but she's a great mom, and the thought that I'll never see her again just kills me.

"I just...I just wanna _know _what's gonna happen to me, you know?" I hiccup. "But no one's telling me anything. I'm being 'delivered' like a fucking package, and you people are all being so _nice, _and making me stay in posh hotels, and feeding me and stuff, and Edward says you're not gonna hurt or kill me but you have g-g-g-_guns, _and you're my kidnappers', and you have people trying to _kill you_, and I'm just so fucking...c-c-c- confused, and _scared_."

I pull back from her hold, finally meeting her hazel eyes with my watery brown ones. Her face is screwed up in a grimace, and it looks as though she wants to cry herself. She chews the corner of her bottom lip as she looks back at me hesitantly.

I dig my stubby nails into her shoulder blades in desperation. She looks like my best chance of getting some answers – or maybe even escaping.

"P-p-p-please, just tell me where they're taking me. Tell me if I'm, _at least, _gonna ever see my mom again."

Her whole thin bottom lip disappears into her mouth now, and the space between her eyebrows creases.

"Isabella," she begins, and then hesitates. She shakes her head. "I honestly don't know where Edward's taking you. I don't usually deal with this stuff. I'm only here as a favour because...well...something important came up that he needs to take care of."

I nod forlornly, because she looks like she's telling the truth, and my chest flutters erratically as I try to catch my breath. I release her shoulders, suddenly feeling silly at my outburst, and rub the heels of my palms across my cheeks, wiping away the tears.

Esme watches me warily for a moment, as if she's waiting for me to burst into tears again, and I mumble another pathetic, "sorry," before resuming my earlier position of knees up to my chin.

She nods, giving me a small sympathetic smile. "Should I order room service now?"

I nod in return, realising that I'm ravenous and utterly spent. This whole fucked up situation is draining.

**TTT**

I look at the clock hanging up on the wall opposite the bed I'm lying on.

_2:23am._

The room is in darkness, and as my eyes adjust, I make out the faint shape of Esme, sitting at the small mahogany desk situated at the corner of the room, before the window. She's sitting perfectly still, eerily still even, facing out into the moonless night. Her shoulders are slumped forward, and from the faint light filtering in through the half open blinds I can also make out a mess of papers scattered on the desk in front of her. I peer closer, and find that the fingers of her left hand are loosely wrapped around a pen. Her head is down, seeming as if she's staring intently at the jumble of papers before her, but she doesn't move.

She's completely unmoving.

I stare at her form for a moment, my sleep addled brain confused at the sight before me.

"Esme?" I whisper into the darkness.

She doesn't answer.

I slowly lift the heavy feather filled comforter off my body and slide out of the warmth and temporary comfort of the king sized bed. Tentatively, I tiptoe over to the desk, a feeling of dread suddenly creeping up on me. I stand a few inches behind the swivel chair she's slumped in, but still, she doesn't move a muscle.

_Why isn't she moving?_

"Esme?" I whisper again, and I jump back a few inches, my hands flying up automatically to my heart in surprise, when a loud snore suddenly erupts from her. She finally moves; slumping further into the seat as her head lolls heavily to one side. Then she's still again, and I can hear her steady, deep breathing, the only sound in the silent suite.

I almost start laughing.

I almost throw my arms up and yell, 'hallelujah'.

I almost spin around and start wiggling my hips in a victory dance.

Because she's _asleep._

Esme has fallen asleep, and I'm awake, which means she's not watching me.

_I can escape._

Before I even think the word, 'escape', I'm out of the bedroom, tiptoeing across the living room of the suite, my eyes searching the darkness intently for my shoes, which I'd managed to remove before giving up hope of trying to escape Esme's hawk-like watch and going to sleep.

I locate them, tucked neatly underneath the low coffee table next to couch. I crouch down, fumbling with the laces hastily, before slipping them on. I don't even bother to tie the laces up again; I just tuck them inside the shoes.

Then, quick as lightening, I dash over to the door, and then my fingers are scrabbling at the many locks on the door, which have all been locked, obviously to slow me down if I were to try to escape. I grin smugly to myself as I turn the final lock anticlockwise, a little squeal of joy escaping my lips as my hand grasps the cold, shiny doorknob. I can almost _smell _freedom.

I yank the door open a fraction –

And then, before I even register what's happening, it's slammed shut again, and then I'm slammed against it, cold hard steel pressed fiercely into my temple.

Then, Esme's hazel eyes are scorching mine, burning with anger, yet oddly, her lips are curled in a small smirk.

**TTT**

I'm sobbing again as Esme ties the last silk tie around my left wrist before tugging my arm over to the bed post, wrapping the tie around it several times before tying it in a knot a boy scout would be proud of. She then picks up her gun, which she tossed on the floor by the bed in order to tie me up.

I'm lying on my back; arms and legs spread eagled and tied to a bed post on each corner of the bed with a silk tie.

Esme sighs as she raises the gun back up to my chest. "I didn't wanna do this, Isabella, I really didn't," she says, shaking her head ruefully. "But you gave me no choice. I was nice to you, sympathetic, and you took advantage of that. You thought that you could, as Edward would say," She chuckles, "'take the piss' out of my good nature. Well, guess what? Big mistake. Now, I'm gonna have to keep you tied up until Edward gets back."

I close my eyes tightly, squeezing out the excess tears. "I'm sorry. Please untie me, I promise; I won't try to escape again."

She shakes her head slowly from side to side. "Not gonna happen. I can't trust you anymore." She paces over to the swivel chair, keeping the gun poised in my direction and facing me so she's walking backwards. She blindly reaches out a hand behind her and drags the chair, wheeling it closer to bed, before she sits on it. "It's a good thing I decided to put that motion detector on your wrist," She continues, motioning over to my right arm with the gun.

I turn my head sharply to the side, straining my neck as I try to peer at my wrist. There's a thin black metal band dangling from my right wrist, a small red light blinking periodically on it.

"What's that?"

"A motion detector," she repeats. She reaches a hand under her blouse – the other hand still clutching the gun – and her fingers reappear a second later with a small black object held between her thumb and index finger. I can't make out what it is in the relatively dim light. She holds it up. "A clever little device this is. It's connected to that black bracelet on your wrist, via Bluetooth. When you move, it vibrates. The more you move, the harder it vibrates. I clip it on my bra and I can feel whenever you move. I put the bracelet on you after you fell asleep, and then I clipped it on myself just before I fell asleep. When you were trying to get away it was vibrating like crazy, and of course, woke me up." She leans back into the chair with a satisfied smirk – gun still poised. "I made it myself."

I sigh, defeated. "Am I gonna get to eat?"

"Of course. I'll feed you."

"And what if I need the bathroom?"

She grimaces. "Damn it, I didn't think of that." She purses her lips in thought briefly before shrugging. "We'll figure that out later."

"But I need to pee now."

I didn't let her tie me up easily, I mean, I did _try_ to put up a fight, but Esme is shockingly strong. Not to mention the fact that she has a firearm in her possession and I don't. She must have knocked me out, because everything blacked out for what seemed like a split second, and then I opened my eyes to find both my legs and one of my arms tied to the bedpost.

She shrugs again, eyebrows elevated in amusement as she replies, "Tough luck."

And 'tough luck' is the understatement of the century.


	5. The Confrontation

**A/N: A little bit of violence in this chapter, so read with caution if that affects you!**

* * *

**The Confrontation**

* * *

**-E.M.-**

We're sitting in Carlisle's Mercedes, conspicuously parked across the road from Laurent Renoir's large house. Alice and Emmett are in the back, and I'm in the passenger seat, with Carlisle in the driver seat. Jasper's sitting in a police cruiser parked a few cars down from us.

And we're just...

Waiting.

We've been sitting in the car for about an hour now – just waiting – and fuck knows what exactly we're waiting for, because we _know_ that James is in the house. Jasper, who has been parked here for several hours, keeping surveillance on the house, saw him arrive about two hours ago.

Yet Carlisle is still insisting that we sit in his fucking car – and wait.

I'm growing more and more pissed off by the minute, a foot tapping furiously, my hand occasionally grasping the steel bulge in the pocket of my jeans, teeth gritting together, as I glare fixedly at Laurent's house.

Carlisle's ignoring my obvious impatience, and this pisses me off further.

Inevitably, I snap.

"What the fuck are we waiting for, Carl?" I hiss. "Seriously, we know he's in there, and he doesn't seem like he's leaving anytime soon. Why don't we just get on with it?"

Carlisle turns his cool, blue gaze on me, his face void of expression, as always. "E, there's no way we're going in there with you so riled up," he says calmly. "We don't know for certain that James blew up the car –"

"Don't fuck about, Carlisle; of course we know he did it!" I interrupt angrily. "Jasper has the fucking CCTV footage of him planting it under my exhaust pipe!"

Carlisle stares at me mutely for a moment, still stoic, yet I can see his blue eyes burning with annoyance at my interruption.

He can't stand being interrupted.

He rarely shouts, rarely loses his temper, rarely shows any emotion at all actually – but that doesn't mean he doesn't have any. Carl's just a master at concealing them, and believe me, if you've pissed him off you won't get away with it. I don't know how and why he does it, because God knows I can never hide my anger, but his silent, calm fury is unnerving. I haven't been able to get used to it, even after all the time I've known him – even after _living_ with him for over a year.

"Are you done interrupting?" he asks quietly, a blond, neat eyebrow delicately raised.

I nod once, scowling.

He turns away from me to peer at Laurent's house as he continues, "we don't know _for certain_ that James blew up the car. Yes, there's CCTV footage of him planting a _device _on your car, but that may not have been an explosive, and in the state you're in now, I have no doubts that you'll start trouble before we've even had a chance to _talk._"

"Fuck talking," I mutter.

He glances at me from the right side of his eye, the corners of his mouth subtly lifted in amusement. "See?" he says, "I'm right, aren't I? So we're gonna sit in here and wait for however long it takes you to calm the fuck down. Or –" He turns to look at me directly. "Or you can decide to calm the fuck down now, and agree to let me _talk_ to Laurent first, before you start pulling out your gun and shouting accusations. Your call, E."

At that he focuses his gaze back on Laurent's house, picking up his cell phone from the centre console and absently tapping a rhythm on his right leg with it.

It pisses me off.

We sit in silence for about ten more minutes, and I realise that the only reason we're actually in silence is because Alice has fallen asleep. See, this is why I didn't want her to come. What fucking use is she gonna be to us, asleep? Emmett's also unusually quiet, and when I glance in the wing mirror at him, I see he's texting someone on his phone, a small grin curving his lips upwards.

No one seems particularly eager to go into the house – apart from me, of course – so they probably won't give a shit how long it takes for me to calm down. The thing is, I don't _want _to fucking calm down. I _know _that James did it, and I want nothing more right now than to pistol whip him in his smug mouth and then beat him to a bloody pulp...

But in order to get a chance to do that, I'll just have to be patient and let Carlisle do whatever the fuck he wants to do.

_Shit._

Five minutes later, I sigh in defeat.

"Alright, I'm calm. Let's go. I'm bloody sick of waiting around."

Carlisle gives me a measured look.

I roll my eyes. "Look, I promise to let you talk, alright? Let's just fucking go."

Before he can say a word, I tug at the door handle hastily, open the door, and step out of the car. He, Emmett and eventually, Alice soon follow.

Alice yawns noisily, reaching a small hand up to cover her mouth. "I'm err...gonna go sit with Jasper in the cruiser, you know, to keep lookout." She lopes off lazily towards Jasper's car and gets in the passenger side.

I roll my eyes again.

Jasper sticks a thumbs-up sign out of the car window to let us know that he knows we're going in. Emmett adjusts his gun belt hidden under his leather jacket. Carlisle straightens up his silk tie and sweeps his golden blond hair back from his forehead. I, once again, grasp the bulge in my pocket; my index finger tracing the outline of the tiny gun nestled there.

We're ready.

Emmett shakes his head, snickering through his nose, as we cross the quiet road. "I can't figure out why the hell you keep your guns in your pocket, E. Why don't you just wear a gun belt?"

I grin – despite my gradually rising fury, festering under the surface of my skin as we get closer to the house, closer to that fucker – and I answer, "Easier access."

We reach the front door and Carlisle shoots me a seemingly impassive glance – though I know exactly what that glance means: _Keep a lid on your fucking temper_. I nod in compliance and he nods once in return.

Then his forefinger reaches out for the doorbell and he pushes it firmly.

**TTT**

Laurent's eyes are wary as he spots us trailing behind Felix. We enter the spacious living room in an intimidating silence, Em and I flanking Carl closely. He manages a strained smile though, standing up from a maroon coloured couch and holding out his right hand to Carlisle.

"Cullen," he says amicably, in his odd mixture of half French, half American accent. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Carlisle grasps his hand tightly, squeezing it in an almost friendly gesture – but he doesn't smile in return. His impassive, blue gaze is locked with Laurent's brown, cautious one as he replies calmly, "This isn't a social visit, Laurent."

Laurent's smile diminishes, and his eyes narrow as they leave Carlisle's to appraise Emmett and I stood silently on either side of him – like bodyguards. I notice a flicker of fear cross his face and can't hold back a small, smug grin of satisfaction.

_Oh, you should be fucking scared, Laurent, you might need to find a new Transporter once I 'm through with your current one._

Laurent's eyes linger on my face a moment longer than necessary and he frowns as if he can hear what I'm thinking, before his eyeballs swivel back to Carlisle. "Oh? What kind of visit is it?" he asks, feigning nonchalance and failing.

I quickly scan the room for any sign of James.

I don't see him.

"It's to do with Edward, actually," Carlisle continues, jerking his head in my direction. "His car was blown up."

Laurent's frown deepens as Carlisle stares at him steadily in an unnerving, silent glare.

"Know anything about it?"

"Should I?" Laurent asks; a slight tremor to his voice.

I stifle a laugh.

Carlisle shrugs his right shoulder, shoving his large hands into the pockets of his perfectly fitted Hugo Boss pants. "Is James around?"

A look of realisation – and relief – dawns on Laurent's face, and his eyes dart to me briefly. They all know about the petty rivalry between me and James, and normally, no one gets involved. No one _needs _to get involved, so they basically just leave us to it.

But this time, the situation is far from petty, and Laurent obviously senses that.

"What has James done?" He questions in a low, ominous voice.

Carlisle shrugs a single shoulder again – this time it's the left. "That's what we're trying to find out," he answers. "Is he here?"

"Yes, he's upstairs –"

I don't wait for him to finish.

"Edward!" Carlisle calls in an exasperated tone as I dart towards, and then up the stairs, taking them two at a time. My index and thumb automatically delve into the pocket of my jeans, pulling out the Chief's Special as I do.

Thundering footsteps are following me – probably Emmett.

When I reach the first floor, I freeze, holding a palm out behind me to halt Emmett, who comes bounding up after me. "Shhh," I whisper. "I don't want him to hear me coming."

I'm holding the gun, not poised, but still ready, as we tiptoe along the first floor in silence, listening out for movement or sound behind any of the doors. Only the slight creak of our feet on the floorboards is heard – until we reach the very last door at the end of the hall.

There's the sound of someone murmuring quietly – no – two voices actually.

Emmett and I share a look, foreheads crinkling as we raise our eyebrows in silent confirmation: _'Yeah, we're going in.'_ Em reaches a left hand – he's left-handed – into his Jacket and plucks his Browning 9x19mm, high power handgun smoothly from the gun belt as we approach the door. I raise the Chief's Special a little higher, so it's level with my hip, and my fingers tighten around the silver handle, index finger involuntarily ghosting over the trigger.

I certainly don't plan on killing James – even though he planned on killing me – but if it becomes necessary I want to be prepared.

And then we hear it.

Emmett snorts.

I snicker.

And we move to stand directly before the door. We press our ears to the wood and we can hear him – and her – even clearer.

"Shit," Emmett whispers through a smirk. "They're really going at it, huh? Did you ever make her moan that loud, E?"

"She's faking it," I answer coolly.

Emmett's right eyebrow elevates, and his dimples pierce his cheeks as his smirk widens. "How the hell can you possibly know that?"

"Cos I know her, Em. She gets quieter the closer she is to orgasm. She's practically silent when she cums. If he was fucking her good, she'd be quiet, not screaming down the place. There's no way that's real."

Emmett whisper-laughs. "No shit. And Jamie boy in there probably thinks he's giving her the time of her life."

"We're gonna 'ave to cut their little fuck session short though, cos I ain't gonna stand out here listening to them for however long he lasts."

Em chortles again and nods. He reaches a hand to the doorknob, and we both remove the safety on our guns, raising them to chest level, before he grasps the knob in his huge fist and turns.

**TTT**

Lucky for them, they're not naked.

Victoria screams as we barge in, because she's sprawled on her back on the bed, James situated between her open thighs, and she spots us over his right shoulder. The bastard continues pounding into her, probably thinking she's screaming out of pleasure.

I soon put a stop to that.

Grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, I haul him off her, pushing the gun into his temple at the same time.

He freezes, but still manages a, "What the fuck?!" before cautiously turning his head to look behind him. When he sees it's me, his top lip curls up in a sneer. "Masen," he mutters.

My eyes flicker to Emmett, and he nods, grabbing Victoria – who's now tugging her skirt down over her thighs frantically – by the bicep and yanking her towards him, keeping his Browning raised at her, but not touching her. Of course, we're not going to hurt her, but I wouldn't put it past her to try to help James, so we need to keep her restrained.

I transfer my grip on James' shirt to the back of his neck, my fingers digging into the veins at the side – the cool nozzle of the Chief's Special still resting on his temple. His trousers and boxers are gathered around his ankles, and I can't see it, thankfully, but his cock is probably on full show. The thought makes me grimace.

"Pull up your fucking trousers!" I order, and slowly, he bends forward, his fingers trembling as he fumbles with his boxers and trousers. He pulls them up haphazardly, so they're all twisted around his hips, the crotch part practically on his right leg. Emmett snorts, and I force back a chuckle.

But the humour of the situation quickly fades as I hear his low, raspy voice:

"So, Masen, you're still alive then..."

I knew it.

I fucking knew it.

He _did _try to kill me.

Rage suddenly overwhelms me and all my judgement is clouded, all my rational thinking is thrown out of the window. I no longer have no plans of killing him; all I want now is to fucking blow his brains out.

I settle for knocking his brains about first, though.

The sound of the metal connecting with his head even makes _me_ cringe. I see Emmett grimacing in my periphery.

Victoria starts screaming again. "Oh my God! Please, Edward, please don't kill him, please!" She cries frantically, struggling against Emmett's vice hold.

James drops to the floor limply on his back, and a moment later his forehead is oozing blood.

I stand above him, my face set in a stone scowl, keeping the gun trained directly on his face. He groans, reaching tentative fingertips up to his forehead, where the blood is flowing from in rivulets. "You planted a bomb on my car." It's more of a statement than a question, but he moves his chin up and down weakly in a nod. The fury at his admission, even though I already knew he did it, is like a power surge of electricity in my body, the current travelling down to my foot, causing it to shoot out swiftly, kicking James in the ribs. Hard.

He groans.

Victoria screams.

Emmett grimaces.

"Why?" I ask through my teeth.

His face twists into a bitter sneer. "Because," He stresses on the 'b' so the blood that has flowed down to his lips flies off like spit. "Because I _fucking _hate you, Masen." Again, droplets of blood fly off his lips at the word, 'fucking'. "You laughed at me when I told you I'd get you back, because you think you're so fucking invincible. I wanted to prove you wrong. I wanted you fucking _dead!_"

His words bring on anger so intense it's like I'm no longer myself. It's like I, Edward Masen, have stepped out of my body and all that remains in it is blinding _fury_.

At that moment, I know that I _will_ shoot James. I know that I'll shoot him more than once. I know that I'll shoot him until all the bullets in my gun are finished, and then I'll probably grab Em's gun and continue shooting at his carcass until it's nothing more than a mess of flesh and blood.

But there's still a modicum of conscience floating about inside my livid brain, still a modicum of the Edward Masen my parents raised me to be, straining through these violent thoughts.

It's not much, but it's enough to make me realise that I can't kill him, no matter how much I want to. I'm not that person. I'm not a murderer.

I toss the gun across the room, as far away from my reach as possible, because the temptation to just cock back the hammer with my thumb, and then tighten my index finger on the trigger, is too much.

And I can't do it.

I can't kill him.

So instead I lunge at him, and it's still like my mind is separated from my body. All of my senses feel as if they've been cut off.

I don't see anything.

I don't feel anything.

I don't hear anything.

Until...

Until I hear a voice, Carlisle's calming voice, somewhere near my ear, murmuring, "E, stop it. C'mon, this isn't you. Stop."

And I feel hands, Emmett's strong hands, pulling me off James, grasping my flailing fists tightly.

And I see a mass of hair, Victoria's curly, red hair in my line of sight, as she bows over James, hugging his bleeding face and sobbing.

And then I'm at one with my body again, and I realise I'm now standing up, my chest rising and falling heavily, Emmett's strong hands still grasping my wrists in restraint, Carlisle standing before me, still murmuring calming words and phrases, his palms holding my burning cheeks, forcing me to look into his twinkling blue eyes.

But I'm not struggling against Em's hold, and Carl doesn't need to keep murmuring calming words to me.

I'm calm now.

**TTT**

"He had the right to kill him, Laurent. You know our rules; an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth..."

"I know."

"James also broke our trust. We're allies, Laurent. But how can I trust you if members of your team are trying to kill mine?"

"I know."

"You're lucky I don't finish Anderson off myself, to be honest. He could have killed Edward."

"I know."

"Edward's more than just my employee, you know. He's my best friend; he's like a younger brother to me. If James' bomb had gone off while he was still in the car..."

"I'm sorry, Carlisle, really. It won't happen again, I'll make sure of it. And James will get severely punished for what he did, I assure you. If I had only known...but I swear, I didn't have a clue –"

"I know, Laurent. I don't blame you. But you better keep your employee in check, because if there's a next time – and hopefully there won't be – but if there is, I won't stop Edward. In fact, I'll pull out my gun and shoot James myself. Is that clear?"

I see Laurent nodding.

"Good. Jasper's arranged for an ambulance for James, and it'll be here shortly. They won't ask any questions."

"Thanks, Carlisle. I appreciate it."

I see Carlisle's fingers gripping Laurent's hand in a strong handshake.

"Bye, Laurent. It's a shame this meeting had to be so unpleasant."

Then he gets in the driver seat of the Mercedes, starts the engine, and we drive away in an edgy silence.

**TTT**

I feel...numb.

I think I'm in shock.

I mean, it's not every day I very nearly kill a guy.

Being a Transporter, I've had to transport dead bodies quite a few times. Bodies from gang related killings, accidental manslaughter, intentional murders. The Cullen Clan is called to help killers with cleaning up their murders, to help them dispose of the bodies, and we're paid a fuckload of money for it. It's certainly not very moral, and I know that. In fact, helping a murderer get away with murder is probably just as bad as being a murderer myself, but during my years in this fucked up, illegal, immoral, underground world, I've never actually killed anyone. I've never even _wanted _to kill someone.

Until today.

And what scares the fuck out of me the most is that fact.

I _wanted _to do it.

What if I want to do it another time? What if Carl and Em aren't there to stop me a next time? What if I don't have a miniscule amount of conscience left next time, to stop me from blasting someone's brains out?

I feel Alice's small fingers gently fluttering at the nape of my neck.

I'm sitting in the back with her now, and Em's up in front in the passenger's seat. I turn my head to the right, staring blankly into her almond shaped, grey eyes.

Her small mouth curves slightly in a timid smile. "You ok?"

I nod silently.

She reaches a hand up to my damp, matted hair, burying her tiny fingers in it and tenderly stroking my head. I feel her fingers pressing into my scalp, and it feels really soothing, so I sigh deeply, leaning my head on her shoulder.

"Thanks, Al," I murmur.

I feel her nodding, before she leans her head against my head, fingers never once stopping their comforting gesture until we reach the hotel.

**TTT**

"For fuck's sake, Ez, what did you do to her?"

Esme casually strolls in to the bedroom, standing beside me at the foot of the bed and also staring at the Swan girl, who's asleep.

She folds her arms across her chest. "You should be thanking me, E. The little bitch nearly got away."

I find my teeth clamping together at her words. "Don't call her that," I say gruffly. "And what do you mean she nearly got away?"

"You told me she was compliant, E. I let my guard down a fraction and she tries to bolt. I found her at the door – halfway out. So like I said, you should be fucking _thanking_ me for tying her up."

I stare at the Swan girl for a long moment.

Her eyebrows are lowered in a slight frown as she sleeps, her long, dark hair tangled around her head on the pillow. Her arms and legs are tied to each corner of the bed, and there's no way that doesn't hurt her because the bed's huge. I feel that pang in my chest again. That annoying, guilt-ridden pang.

"I promised her that I, or anyone we met on the journey, wouldn't hurt her," I say through clenched teeth, my eyes finally leaving her to glare at Esme.

"And you kept your promise. I didn't hurt her."

I sigh in exasperation. "Have you been feeding her?"

"Of course."

"How the hell did she go to the toilet?"

"I wasn't _that _heartless, for God's sake. I gave her fifteen minute breaks every two hours. She could walk around, stretch her limbs out, go to the bathroom –"

"I told her she would be free to do what she liked in the hotel rooms."

"Yeah, _you _told her that. I didn't. Besides," Esme meets my glare, her hazel eyes narrowing in suspicion. "You seem to have promised her an awful lot of things. I think you seem to be forgetting that she's only a _delivery_..."

Carlisle suddenly appears at the doorway of the bedroom. He casts an expressionless, appraising glance over me and Esme.

"You ok, E?"

The question is starting to piss me off now. "Yes, I'm fine," I answer curtly. "Just like I was fine when you asked me five minutes ago, fine when Emmett asked me ten minutes ago, fine when Alice asked me fifteen minutes ago."

Carlisle lifts an eyebrow. "Are you done?"

I sigh, running my fingers through the matted locks of my hair. "Yeah."

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm leaving now. You know, business. Em's coming with me."

I nod.

"You gonna be ok on your own? Or should Alice stay with you?"

I shake my head quickly. "No, I'll be fine. _Please_, take Alice with you."

Carlisle and Esme laugh.

"I heard that, shithead!" Alice calls from the living room.

I manage a small smirk.

Carlisle moves forward, clamping a hand on my shoulder. "If you need anything..." he says, raising his eyebrows at me questioningly.

I nod again. "I know. Cheers, Carl, but I'll be fine."

A few minutes later they're all gone, and I'm once again left alone with Isabella Swan.

**TTT**

I can't help staring at her again.

She's lying there on her back, all tied up like she's in a fucking BDSM scene, and like I said, the bed's pretty big so her legs are spread really...wide...apart...and the jumper she's wearing has ridden up a bit because her arms are up, so I can see a strip of her flat, olive toned stomach...

It's really fucking inappropriate to get hard on over her looking like that, so to distract myself from the growing situation in my jeans, I hurry over to the bed and start untying the fucking horrendous knots that Esme has made.

She begins to stir while I'm undoing the last knot around her right ankle, lifting her arms up in a stretch and moaning softly. The sound doesn't help my inapt erection. I lightly massage a faint red mark around her ankle, where the tie was wrapped around, and I can feel her gaze on me as my fingertips brush against her soft, smooth skin.

I glance up at her from underneath my unruly hair spilling over my forehead, and her large, light brown irises are trained on me steadily as my eyes meet hers. We stare at each other silently for a moment, and I don't why I do it, but I just can't seem to tear my eyes away from her. She's really fucking...beautiful. Her eyes are heavy lidded with sleep, her full lips parted and pink, her glossy, dark hair in a tousled halo around her head.

Eventually her cheeks redden, and her eyeballs flicker downwards, avoiding mine.

"Are you alright?" I ask her quietly.

Still without looking at me, she nods, absently rubbing at her left wrist with the fingers of her right hand.

"Look," I murmur, my fingers now softly kneading her ankle. "I'm sorry about what Esme did to you. If I'd known that she was gonna –"

She clears her throat, but her voice is still husky as she speaks. "It's fine."

I'm on my knees between her still spread legs, and the inappropriate semi erection is still lingering. I reach for her left ankle, gently rubbing the faint red mark there too...

She sighs.

I glance up at her and find that she's staring at me again. The stiffy in my pants begins to harden further, so I decide to stop there. I swiftly move out from her parted legs and stand – awkwardly – at the edge of the bed, hoping that my inappropriate arousal isn't obvious.

Her eyes follow my movement, and as I stand up they widen, darting up and down my body frantically, her eyebrows knitting together.

And then she clamps a palm over her mouth – and screams.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! I have a twitter account now, so follow me to read my random ramblings, or to give a me a nudge to update sooner, coz seriously, I suck at updating. It's Savannah_Vee**


	6. The Awkwardness

**The Awkwardness**

* * *

**~B.S.~**

He's covered in blood.

Oh my God, he's covered in blood.

He's wearing a blazer – one he wasn't wearing when he left – and it fell open as he got up from the bed, and _good God, _his t shirt is covered in spatters of blood. And he doesn't look hurt at all so it can't be his –

Wait.

His knuckles on both hands are all bruised up.

Oh. My. God.

What the hell has he been _doing?_

I have to get away.

I _have _to get away from this... this _lunatic._

_Now._

I realise I'm screaming, a high pitched, hysterical wailing, like a police siren.

And then, as he is momentarily frozen, staring at me in confusion and surprise – I leap off the bed.

Unfortunately, my action snaps him out of whatever daze he was in.

"Shit!" he spits.

And he leaps after me.

I scream louder as I feel the warmth of his body behind me, as I feel the strength of his arms as they wrap around my waist tightly. Every one of my limbs flail, hitting parts of his body I don't even register, but still he holds me, his grip as unyielding as iron.

"Fucking hell!" he growls, struggling to keep a hold of me, while trying to still my flailing arms. "Stop... fucking... screaming, and just – _oof._" – the breath is knocked out of him as my elbow nails him in the ribs – "just... listen to me!"

"Somebody help me!" I wail. "Help! Please!"

"Jesus Christ," he mutters. And his voice is a breathless waft in my ear.

I inhale deeply, filling my lungs, ready for another round of screaming, in hope that one of the hotel staff, or _someone _will hear me and come bursting into the room.

But as I get ready to work my lungs again, my mouth opening wide – his palm his suddenly covering it.

My scream comes out muffled.

And then he's hoisting me up by his one armed hold around my waist – Jesus, he's strong – until my feet aren't touching the ground, and he staggers over to the bed and drops me on it, on my back. I manage about three seconds of screaming before his hand comes down again, clamping down on my open lips.

And then – _oh my God._

The full weight of his body is crushing mine until it becomes a little difficult to breathe. He straddles me, his strong thigh muscles over mine, pushing my own legs together tightly so I can't move them. He then presses his hips into my stomach, holding my body down with it, while his one free hand captures both of my still – though weakly, now – thrashing wrists and pins them together, and down on my chest.

And he has completely restrained me.

All on his own.

I swear, I can't move. I can't even gather up enough air to scream anymore, with his body a dead weight on my body, with his palm pressed so tightly to my lips.

In the silence now, our heavy breathing sounds amazingly loud. His chest moves quickly above me as he breathes, his mouth open, sucking in air, his forehead beaded with drops of sweat, a strand of hair sticking to it.

I breathe quickly through my nose, the air fanning out onto his hand. My heaving chest pushes up against my arms as he holds them down.

He stares at me as we both pant, his eyes never once leaving my face, and – I'm probably just losing my mind now, because – I'm sort of, just a little, slightly getting... _turned on _for God knows what reason.

Maybe it's the way his aqua eyes are just... staring intently into mine, or maybe it's the way I can feel the warm breeze of his breath on my face, or maybe it's the fact that us breathing fast together like this – under _very _different circumstances – would sound sort of, _sexy, _or maybe... _maybe_ it's the fact that his body is on top of mine, and –

He shifts a little, tightening his thighs around mine as his hips push harder into my stomach – and _Oh my God._

He can't have. Can he?

I mean, why would he?

What about this situation could possibly cause _that _– although, I just admitted that it was sort of, slightly, turning me on, I mean, could he be feeling the same way?

I think he has a... _hard-on_.

I can _feel _it, or something, on my stomach. Something warm and very, very hard, and when he moved his hips a little just now, the thing moved with it.

Dear God...

I clench my thighs against my own growing arousal.

But this is just... so, so wrong, I mean, why the hell is he getting aroused? Does this shit turn him on? Does he get off on murdering people? Or on holding down women into submission?

And why the hell am _I _aroused by this? Why the hell am I aroused by his arousal? Why the hell am I aroused that he's holding me down like this? Do _I _get off on this shit?

Holy hell, did he just shift against me again?

"Don't fucking scream."

His low, hoarse voice snaps me out of my mental pondering, and the reason I was screaming in the first place suddenly floods back. My eye sockets widen around my eyeballs as I realise that his blood spattered t shirt, _someone's _blood that's spattered on his t shirt, is touching me, and I'm just about to scream again when he leans forward, and over to the side of my head – and his soft lips brush my earlobe.

I inhale sharply instead.

"Shhh," he whispers, his breath a hot whistling in my ear. "Don't even think about it. I'll remove my hand if you promise me you won't scream again. Nod once if you promise."

I tilt my chin into my neck; then lift it up again.

"Good girl," he whispers.

Tentatively, his palm's hold loosens on my mouth. He lifts his head, so he's looking at me again, and his gaze is unnerving: eyes holding mine like a magnet as he lifts his hand away from my lips, slowly, no doubt ready to clamp it back down if I start screaming again.

When his hand is finally off my face I gulp in the air like I'm gulping down cold water – and still he just stares at me.

After a while, he clears his throat.

"I haven't killed anyone, alright?"

Like _that_ is supposed to placate me. I just blink up at him in silence.

He sighs deeply through his nose, the air fluttering a wisp of my hair. "I fucked him up, bad, but I didn't kill him. I couldn't..."

I think my mouth drops open, because his palm is suddenly back, hovering over my mouth, like he's expecting me to scream.

But I don't.

His eyebrows knit. "I don't even know why I'm explaining myself to you," he mutters. His eyes flicker over my face again. "The guy I fucked up is the guy who almost killed me... almost killed us."

_The bomb?_ My eyebrows furrow with the silent question.

He nods.

This shouldn't make me feel calmer. I mean, someone tried to fucking _blow him up, _and then he retaliated by evidently beating the shit out of the guy. What kind of dangerous world have I gotten tangled up in? This information should not placate me in the slightest.

But he's staring at me again with those lovely eyes of his, and oddly, as I stare back at him... it does.

I sigh, feeling his weight on my stomach as I inhale.

And _holy fuck_, the _erection _is still there.

I don't know what my face gives away, because he eases off me quickly then, like he suddenly realises that I know he has an erection, sitting up so he's still straddling my thighs, but his hips and his upper body are no longer pressing against mine. And I shouldn't want his heavy, warm weight on me. I shouldn't... _miss _it.

But oddly, I do.

His right hand still holds my wrists together, and he uses his free hand to push back the strand of hair that is stuck to his forehead. Then he glances down at himself, at his bloodied t shirt, and grimaces.

"Fuck," he mutters. "I didn't think this through. Alice should have stayed."

He pushes up from the bed so he's on his knees, his legs still either side of mine so he's looming over me and blocking the light – his crotch directly in my line of sight. Then he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He presses maybe two buttons on the phone before placing it on his ear.

"Al, where are ya? ..._Fuck. _Alright... Nah, it's ok. Never mind." He ends the call, and then his thumb is immediately moving over the phone's keypad again as he dials this time. He raises the phone to his ear again. "Jay. You still around? ...Ok. Good. I need a favour..."

**TTT**

About ten minutes later, there's a snicker in the doorway.

Our eyes – his still staring fixedly at my now _crimson_ face, and mine, trying to look anywhere _but _his face – both snap to the direction of the noise.

And it's the blond guy, the cop, or whatever he is, slanted in the doorway of the bedroom, arms folded across his chest, mouth stretched wide in a grin as his eyes appraise our no doubt, _odd_ position on the bed.

"Well, isn't this cozy."

Edward is immediately off me like I'm a pile of hot coals, his fingers smoothing his rumpled, bloody t shirt as he stands at the edge of the bed. He glares at the blond cop for a moment, before his eyes go back to me, sweeping up and down my body like a broomstick. Then, strangely, he grabs the comforter from the bottom of the bed by my feet, and quickly spreads it over my body.

I just lay there, still in the position he left me in, my wrists together on my chest. All the yelling and struggling has completely drained me.

He looks back at the blond guy, who is grinning like the Cheshire cat, a raised eyebrow completing the look.

"She tried to run," he says.

Blond guy just nods – still grinning.

Edward's hand reaches up into his hair, his fingers dishevelling it even more.

"I had to hold her down cos she was going nuts on me, you know? Kicking and punching and screaming..."

He trails off as blond guy holds his palms up by his shoulders as if in surrender. Blond guy's forehead crinkles as both his eyebrows rise, and the corner of right lip lifts in half a smile.

"Dude," he says. "I didn't ask for an explanation. And I sure as hell, am not going to comment, so let's just leave it alone. Deal?"

I don't have a clue what he's talking about, but Edward seems to understand. He nods, his hand still sifting through his hair, and then his eyes flicker over to me again for a split second, before going back to the blond.

"Did you bring the clothes?" he asks him.

The blond guy nods, then jerks his thumb behind him, towards the living room. "Left the bag on the couch."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Edward looks at me again as he says – to blond guy, I guess, "She could try to escape again so watch her. Restrain her if you have to... but don't hurt her."

_Where is he going now? And God, what is with all these babysitters?_

Blond guy salutes him with his index and middle finger. "Gotcha."

Edward stands a moment, his eyes darting from me to blond guy and back again. "I'll err, I'll try not to take too long."

Blond guy nods. "Ok."

"And you can leave as soon as I'm finished. If you want."

"Cool."

He still remains standing by the foot of the bed though, looking pretty awkward and uncomfortable, like he doesn't want to leave or something.

Weird.

I clear my throat quietly, and both their heads turn to look at me. _Oh crap. _

My face grows hot as I ask in a hoarse whisper, "Where're you going?"

"To shower." His answer is immediate.

"Oh." _Is that all? What's all the stalling about then?_

"So Jasper," – he gestures in the blond guy's general direction – "is gonna watch you for a bit."

"Ok."

There's a beat of awkward silence in which he stares at me, and then he scrubs a palm over his face like he's tired, and turns to look at the other guy.

"Yeah, so... I'm gonna go now. I'll try to be quick."

"Yeah, you said. Jesus, E, just go fucking shower," the blond – _Jasper _says. "What do you think I'm gonna do to the girl?"

Edward glares at Jasper, Jasper stares back, looking more amused than anything, and it's like they have a silent conversation with their eyes. Then Edward mutters, "seriously, Jay, leave her alone," as Jasper steps away from the doorway to let him pass.

Seconds later, a door slams and I hear the faint sound of the shower being turned on.

Then Jasper looks at me.

He smirks, and folds his arms across his chest again.

"So, _Isabella_..."

Slowly, he stalks into the bedroom, arms still crossed, change or keys or something in his pockets tinkling with every step. He stops when he's about a foot away from the bed.

I shuffle back on the bed, sitting up with my back against the wrought iron headboard, and pulling the comforter up to my chin. I'm not afraid of him, well, not really, but it just suddenly seems a little inappropriate for me to be lying on my back on a bed – though why it didn't seem inappropriate earlier on is beyond me.

Jasper probably thinks I'm moving back out of fear, because he freezes mid-step, loses the grin, and holds his palms up again in surrender. His eyes soften as he says, "Hey, relax, ok? I'm not gonna hurt you."

He's pretty attractive too: intelligent green eyes paired with shaggy blond hair, straight nose, full lips. He's lean - like Edward - but probably muscular underneath his cop uniform, seeing as his shirt is a little tight around his biceps as he bends his arms. He's tall, though a little shorter than Edward. He looks more like a surfer dude type, with his sun-kissed skin and longish hair, than a cop.

Though, if he really is a cop he must be a crooked one.

I only realise I've just been staring at him in silence for a pretty long while when his full lips begin to curve into a smile again.

He winks. "See something you like?"

I blush hard and look down at my lap, mortified.

He laughs softly. "I'm only messing with you."

Still, I can't lift up my eyes to meet his.

He sighs loudly, blowing air through his lips. Clears his throat. "I've err, I've got this aunt. Aunt Regina. She's my favourite aunt. Awesome cook. Great sense of humour. I visit her every once in a while..."

My eyeballs swivel up to look at him, a crease appearing between my eyebrows. _What on earth is he talking about? _

He's not even looking at me anymore, his green eyes staring at nothing in particular, his fingers absently rubbing at the stubble along his jaw line. He clears his throat again. "So um, I'm her favourite nephew. She calls me 'Jazzy'." He glances at me briefly then, before looking away again. "Thing is, when I was a kid, I had an uncle. Uncle Carl. Great guy. Used to be my favourite uncle."

He stops, still staring into space, as if in contemplation, his fingers sliding across the light hair on his chin.

I'm confused. _Surely that can't be the end of the story? I mean, what was his point?_

I wait for him to continue.

The silence stretches on as he doesn't.

I find myself shuffling in impatience, find myself growing curious to the point of his story, to the reason he stopped so abruptly.

I find myself blurting out, "So, what happened to him?"

Jasper's eyes shift to mine. "Excuse me?"

"Your Uncle Carl. I mean, you're talking about him in past tense..."

Jasper's lips twitch. "Oh yeah, right. So, yeah, my uncle Carl was pretty cool. When I was about, I dunno, nine? My parents told me Uncle Carl was moving away. Didn't tell me where, or why, just that he was moving and that was that. But about, a year and a half later – and I was nearly eleven then so I remember – we went back to the house that used to be Uncle Carl's."

He pauses.

My mouth moves of its own accord. "So... was he there?"

Jasper shakes his head solemnly. "No. But you know who was?"

"Who?"

"Aunt Regina."

I frown. "Was she your uncle's wife?"

"No."

"Well, your mom or dad's sister?"

"Nope."

"Then how was she your aunt?"

Jasper's eyes meet mine again. Deadpan. "Uncle Carl used to call me Jazzy too. In fact, he was the only person that called me that. Then this 'Aunt Regina' shows up from God knows where, living in uncle Carl's house – and she calls me Jazzy."

I just blink at him in total confusion for about ten seconds.

And then it hits me.

I snort. Then clap my hand over my mouth in embarrassment.

But then, his lips begin twitching, and he snorts too, and I find myself giggling behind my hand, and he starts laughing, laughing so hard his eyes squeeze shut, and then I double over with laughter, wrapping my arms around my stomach. And then we're both laughing, my laughter a soft, high pitched snicker, his a deep, low rumble.

Jasper continues through chuckles, "And... and I never even realised, I mean... I was just a kid, you know?" He snorts again. "But one day... one day, when I was like, sixteen, I went to visit Aunt Regina." He tries to rein in his laughter. "She wasn't expecting me. Came to the door in her dressing gown, straight out of bed." He pauses. Then, "I think the stubble was what finally gave her away."

We both burst into a fresh round of laughter.

**TTT**

**-E.M.-**

I need a wank.

And being in this fucking shower isn't helping.

I squeeze a bit of shower gel in my palm. Rub my hands together. Look down at my dick, protruding from my hips.

"Fuck."

I really need a wank.

I can't keep getting hard around the Swan girl, or she's gonna think I'm a fucking perv or something. But every time I have to get close to her, or have to fucking _restrain _her, I get hard. And it's a fucking nuisance.

She's a _delivery _for fuck's sake. What use is getting hard over her gonna be? I mean, yeah, she's attractive, with her sultry brown eyes, and her red, pouty mouth and her body... her body, with her full tits and her firm arse, and her flat, smooth stomach...

My hand is around my cock, fingers squeezing, before I even realise.

"Shit."

I let go. Groan at the loss of contact.

She's attractive, but so are plenty of other girls. And I need to stop thinking about her like that because... well, because it's pointless. It's fucking _pointless _because she's a _delivery._

So why am I thinking about her as I stand naked in the shower? Why am I thinking about the feel of her soft body underneath mine as I held her down? Why am I thinking about her thighs in between mine, about how good it felt when I shifted against her...?

I groan.

Fuck, my hand's wrapped around myself again, stroking slowly.

I force myself to stop.

"Fuck."

She felt it.

I know she did.

I saw the flush in her cheeks, and the surprise on her face. And fuck, if I said it didn't turn me on even more I'd be lying.

I'm breathing fast now, the warm water still pelting my back, trickling down my shoulders.

My hand is at my dick again.

I brace my other palm against the tiled wall. Drop my chin. Hunch my shoulders.

And I give in.

I wank.

My hand moves quickly along my shaft, back and forth, slippery with shower gel. My hips involuntarily thrust. I fuck my hand.

I get goosebumps on my arms, despite the warmth of the shower, and my hairs feel like they're rising on my skin, my stomach muscles tighten, my legs grow weak, my eyeballs roll back, my lips part, because, Christ, it feels good. It feels like, like having an itch you can't reach, and then finally reaching it, and the relief, the pleasure you feel when you finally scratch it. Only ten times better.

I pant. I groan. I hiss.

I think about Isabella Swan.

The water is lukewarm now, still running down my body in rivulets.

My wrist moves faster, twists, rotates. My balls slap against my thighs.

I pant faster. I groan louder. I gasp.

I picture Isabella Swan on her back, her arms and legs tied to each corner of the bed with silk ties, her legs spread wide, just like how I'd found her earlier on.

Except...

She's naked.

And I come.

"Fuck."

* * *

**A/N: Apologies for the ridiculous lateness of this update. I have no excuse except laziness. Forgive me, and thanks for reading.**


	7. The Stockholm Syndrome

**The Stockholm Syndrome**

**

* * *

**

**-E.M.-**

I step out of the shower, grab a towel and start drying myself off in the bathroom. I try to not think about the fact that I just had a wank in the shower like a fucking teenager, while thinking about a woman who is completely unattainable. Am I attracted to her? Well, of course I am. But that doesn't _mean_ anything, I mean, I'm a young, single guy, I'll get attracted to women.

I've just got to not let this attraction to Isabella Swan fuck up my job. I'll keep away from her. Keep my distance. Only touch her when absolutely necessary, because touching her is what seems to set me off –

I pause, the towel hovering over my skin, and frown.

I can hear laughing coming from the bedroom. Jasper's low chuckle, definitely, and – and the Swan girl?

I hastily pull on the new boxers, pull on the clean pair of jeans Jasper brought for me – and there's that laughing again. It's a soft giggling, so quiet I can barely hear it with Jasper's laugh over it. But it's definitely her.

What are they laughing at?

And how the fuck did Jasper manage to get her to a point where she's giggling? She was still scared stiff when I left the room.

I hurry out of the bathroom, topless, hair still wet, the towel slung around my shoulders, and I pause in the doorway of the bedroom, watching them.

I actually can't believe what I'm seeing here.

Jasper is on the bed, shoes off, sitting with his back against the headboard, a pillow propping him up.

The Swan girl, Isabella, is sitting up next to him, back also against the headboard, legs crossed.

And they're... _talking._

They're actually having a conversation, like they're old friends or something. Like she isn't being fucking kidnapped and he isn't one of her kidnapper's accomplices.

And Jasper, that bastard, is _flirting_ with her. He's subtle about it but I know him, I can spot his usual technique. He's using his hands a lot as he talks, so he can 'accidently' brush against her. He keeps turning his head to look at her, so her face ends up being only inches from his. He's leaning towards her, consciously I bet, so his shoulder is touching hers.

It's starts to piss me off.

I mean, what the fuck is he doing? She's my fucking delivery and he's trying to do what? Get into her pants? Not likely, mate.

I shuffle a bit where I'm standing in the doorway, clear my throat, and they both glance up, spotting me at the same time.

The Swan girl's smile drops immediately when she sees me, and her large, brown eyes become even larger as they widen, for fuck knows what reason. And it pisses me off even more that she can smile and laugh with _Jasper_ and yet, she's still so terrified of me.

I mean, I _want _her to be scared because it makes things easier, makes her do what I tell her to do but if Jasper's being all chummy with her then she's gonna start getting comfortable and I can't have that. He's fucking up things.

Jasper keeps his grin intact as his eyes snap up to look at me.

Which makes me even more fucking annoyed. This is my _job_ and he's taking the piss? Fucking flirtingwith _my_ delivery?

"Jay," I say, _trying _to keep my face neutral, _trying_ to keep my voice even.

He lifts his blond eyebrows in answer. "What's up, E?"

I jerk my head towards the living room, teeth grinding together at his nonchalant attitude. "I need to talk to you quickly."

He turns to Isabella and _winks _at her, still grinning, before swinging his legs over the side of the bed and reaching for his shoes.

I look over at Isabella Swan when he's bent over, tying his laces.

She's avoiding my eyes, I can tell, her gaze focused on her hands, her fingers fiddling about in her lap.

Jasper finishes tying his shoes and stands, walking past me through the doorway and out of the bedroom.

I give Isabella one last glance before I shut the door.

**TTT**

**~B.S.~**

I swear, this guy is trying to give me a heart attack.

First, he _straddles _me, and as if that isn't bad enough he has _an erection _while he does it, and then, he comes out of the shower, _shirtless, _hair all sexy and wet, towel around his broad shoulders, boxers peeking out of the top of his jeans.

And his body is just... _wow._

No wonder he's so fucking strong, no wonder he was able to hold me down, all by himself.

I was fooled by his long, lean physique, fooled by the way he looks next to that other guy, the huge, burly one. Because, yeah, he is lean, but there is no _hint _of muscle about his body. He's actually _very _muscular, abs rippling his stomach, that sexy 'v' thing guys get at their hips, hard-looking pecs and bulging biceps when he bent his arm.

_Jesus, I'm an idiot._

Why do I keep lusting after this guy? He fucking _kidnapped _me at _gunpoint_. He's taking me to someone who wants me for God knows what reason, for _money_. He beat up a guy so badly the guy's blood got splattered over the front of his shirt. I mean, God, what is wrong with me?

Stockholm Syndrome? Maybe I've got it.

Except, would I _know_ I had it, if I did?

The bedroom door pushes open a little, and it's him – wearing a shirt now.

"Are you hungry?" he asks.

I am actually. I didn't realise until he just asked.

I nod.

He holds my eyes. "Ok. Well, Jasper's ordering room service."

I nod again.

He stays standing in the doorway, as if afraid to come into the room but at the same time, he doesn't want to leave.

He clears his throat, seeming almost... _nervous? _"There's some clean clothes for you in a bag. You can take a shower if you want."

I've probably lost my ability to speak or something because all I do, again, is nod.

"You wanna shower now or...?" he asks, trailing off.

Why is this awkward?

_Um, how do you expect it to be, Bella, he's your fucking kidnapper._

I shake my head a little, to clear it.

"Ok," he says. "Well, you can shower whenever –"

"No no," I interrupt. "I'll err, I'll go now."

I get off the bed and brush past him through the open doorway. A quick glance around the living room and I see that Jasper is still here, standing over by the front door, obviously acting as security. He smiles at me when I meet his eyes though, and I smile back because, well, he's a pretty nice guy.

Well... apart from the whole, being an accomplice to my kidnapper as well as a bent cop thing.

I sigh. I _so _have Stockholm Syndrome.

"Jay!" Edward snaps in what seems like a warning, and I'm startled because his voice is right behind me. I had no idea he had followed me out of the bedroom.

Jasper laughs, lifting his shoulders in a shrug. "It was only a smile for fuck's sake. Chill out."

I glance over my shoulder at Edward – to find him _glaring _at Jasper.

"Jeez," Jasper continues, still grinning. "With the way you're acting I'd think you were jealous..." – he raises an eyebrow – "if I didn't know better."

Jealous about what? What exactly did he and Jasper talk about?

I look at Edward again – and whoa.

He's no longer glaring, in fact, his eyes are focused on the floor, almost like he's... _embarrassed?_

And he's blushing.

**TTT**

The next morning I wake up to the smell of toast and eggs and bacon and coffee.

I forget where I am for a moment, thinking I'm back in my own bed at home – before I remember that Renee's cooking never smells this good.

My eyelids flutter open; I stretch out my limbs like a cat.

And he's there, standing in the doorway again like he's afraid to get any closer to me.

"I got you some breakfast," he says, nodding at a covered plate sitting on the bedside drawer.

"Thanks." My voice is hoarse. Probably due to all the screaming I did yesterday.

He nods and turns to go back into the living room.

I sit up in the bed, pick up the plate of food and start eating.

I can hear him on his cell, as usual. He's talking pretty quietly though, so I can't hear what he's saying. Then, halfway through my breakfast I hear a knock on the front door. I pause, listening out for who it could be, but I only hear deep mumbles. I'm guessing it's a guy at the door. And then I hear a, "cheers Jay," and the door is shut.

It was Jasper. I didn't even know he was gone. Knowing that it's just Edward and I, alone again, makes me feel, I don't know, nervous?

Edward appears at the doorway of the bedroom again.

"Need anything?" he asks. "More food? Drink?"

I shake my head. "Um, no thanks."

He just about to say something else when there's another knock on the front door.

He goes to answer it, and this time I can immediately tell who's there once he opens the door. Her high pitched, New York accented voice is pretty hard to miss, and oddly, I'm _glad _she's here.

I hear her and Edward talking heatedly – probably arguing – about something, and then a moment later she appears at the doorway with an irritated-looking Edward hot on her heels.

She grins. "Hey, babe, miss me?"

I can't help smiling back because, yeah, I sort of did.

_I totally have Stockholm Syndrome._

"Good to see Eddie boy's been taking care of ya."

"Of course I'm taking care of her, I'm not a fucking monster," Edward says, annoyed.

Alice rolls her eyes and walks over to sit next to me on the bed.

Edward, again, stays in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb.

"So," Alice says, leaning against the headboard and stretching out her short legs on the comforter. "Did Jay manage to get the passport?"

Edward gives her a look I can't really interpret, glaring at her through narrowed, yet incredulous eyes before he says through clenched teeth, "yeah, he did."

Alice seems to ignore his look. She smiles. "Good. Well, like I said, I've booked the tickets. The flight's tonight."

_Wait, what? Passport? Flights?_

"Where are we going?"

Alice looks pointedly at Edward.

Edward grimaces.

"We're taking a flight."

"Well, yeah, I figured that, but where to?" My voice sounds slightly hysterical and can you blame me? I mean, we're taking a flight. We could be going _anywhere. _Being transported around America and not knowing where I'm going is bad enough, but if I was taken to another country, how on earth would I be able to get back? How on earth would I get found?

Edward sighs. "I can't tell you where."

_Oh my God._

Alice seems to sense my rising hysteria. She touches my arm, stroking me with her fingertips in a soothing manner. "Don't worry, it's a short flight," she whispers. "If you know what I mean."

"For fuck's sake, Alice!"

"What? I'm not telling her anything." She shrugs. "It's a short flight. That doesn't give away much, does it?"

Edward looks at me. He sighs again, running his fingers through his hair. "Look, I'm sorry, alright?" he says, those bluish-green eyes of his intense. "I'm sorry I have to do this to you, but I'm only doing a job."

At that he turns from the doorway and walks into the living room.

Alice stares at the spot he just left for a few minutes, her lips pursed as if she's thinking about something.

"Hmmm," she murmurs thoughtfully.

"What?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "Nothing," she murmurs, turning to look at me with narrowed eyes. She smiles wickedly. "Well, nothing _yet_."

**TTT**

About an hour later, we leave the hotel.

Alice comes with us, thank goodness. I don't really want to be alone with Edward.

He's awfully quiet though, and barely even glancing at me or Alice. In the car he drives silently, and I look at him from the corner of my eye. He doesn't looks mad, like he did when he wanted to find out who blew up his car, he doesn't look irritated by Alice either, he just looks... contemplative.

"What are you thinking about?"

Alice's voice in his ear startles him. She's leaning forward in between the two front seats again like she was doing before, except this time she's whispering in Edward's ear instead of mine.

"Jesus, Alice," he murmurs – but he doesn't answer her question. Or even glance at her.

She strokes his face with the back of her fingers. "You're being very quiet today, E," she continues. "What's up?"

He shrugs, tilting his head away from her fingers, his eyebrows lowering in a slight frown. "I'm always quiet."

Alice pokes his cheek. "True. But you're not usually _this _quiet. What's on your mind?"

His frown deepens. He shrugs again. "Nothing."

Alice's eyebrows elevate. "Really? Nothing at all?"

"Nope."

Alice snickers. "Sure," she says, ruffling his hair. She then leans back in her seat. She yawns. "I'm gonna take a nap. Wake me up if you need me."

I'm confused. I hate these conversations they have that I don't understand, hate these loaded looks and private talks. It just makes me more nervous.

The silence in the car becomes slightly suffocating now that Alice is quiet too, and I just can't help feeling... _awkward _with him and I don't know why.

_Might have something to do with the fact that you felt his hardened cock on your stomach, Bella._

I blush hard at that thought and my eyes automatically flicker to the side to look at him –

Only to find him doing the same thing to me.

I quickly look away, look out of the window on my side, try not to take a peek at him again.

He switches on the radio, turns it up, and we continue the journey in silence.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading. Hope you enjoyed. Sorry about the slow updates.**


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